The astonishing history of Troy town

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CHARLES CANNAN

Mr Dear Can nan.

It is told of a distinguished pedagogue that one day
a heated stranger burst into his study , and, wringing him by the
hand, cried, “ Heaven bless and reward you, sir ! Heaven pre¬
serve you long to educate old England’s boyhood! I have walked
many a weary , weary mile to see your face again,” he continued,
; flourishing a scrap of paper, “ and assure you that but for your
discipline, obeyed by me as a boy and remembered as a man, I
should never — no, never — have won the Ticket-of-Leave which
you behold ! ”

In something of the same spirit I bring you this small volume.
The child of encouragement is given to staggering its parent;
and I make no doubt that as you turn the following pages, you
will more than once exclaim , with the old lady in the ballad —

“ 0, deary me ! this is none of I ! ”

Nevertheless, it would be strange indeed if this story bore no
marks of you ; for a hundred kindly instances have taught me to
come with sure reliance for your reproof and praise. Few, I
imagine, have the good fortune of a critic so friendly and in¬
exorable ; and if the critic has been unsparing, he has been used
unsparingly.

Q-

Wargrave, Henleyon-Thames,

June 7, 1888.

B

143065

Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2019 with funding from
Kahle/Austin Foundation

https://archive.org/details/astonishinghisto0000quil_t3y6

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I

In which the Reader is made acquainted
with a State of Innocence ; and the
meaning of the Word “Cumeelfo” .

5

II

How an Admiral took one Gentleman for
Another, and was told the Day of the
Month .

14

III

Of a Blue-jerseyed Man that would hoist
no more Bricks ; and a Nightcap that had
no Business to be where it was

22

IV

Of certain Lepers ; and two Brothers who,

BEING MUCH ALIKE, LOVED THEIR SlSTER AND

recommended the Use of Globes

32

V

How an Absent-minded Man, that hated
Women, took a House by the Water-side

AND LIVED THEREIN WITH ONE SERVANT

43

VI

How certain Trojans climbed a Wall out
of Curiosity ; and of a Charwoman that
COULD GIVE NO INFORMATION ....

5i

VII

Of a Lady that had a musical Voice, but

USED IT TO DECEIVE .

62

VIII

How a Crew, that would sail on a Washing-
day, was shipwrecked : with an Advertise¬
ment against Women .

73

IX

Of a Town that would laugh at the Great :

AND HOW A DULL COMPANY WAS CURED BY

an Irish Song .

85

X

Of one Excursion and many Alarums .

98

XI

Of a Wesleyan Minister that would im¬
prove upon Nature, and thereby trained
a Rook to good Principles ....

iii

XII

Of Deterioration ; and a Wheelbarrow
that contained unexpected things .

129

B 2

iii

Contents

CHAP.

XIII

The Significance of Pomeroy’s Cat ; and
how the Men and Women of Troy ensued
after Pleasure in Boats ....

PAGE

143

XIV

Of a Lady of Sensibility that, being awk¬
wardly placed, might easily have set
Matters right, but did not ; with much
BESIDE .

154

XV

How a Lady and a Youth, being separated
from their Company, visited a Ship that
held nothing but Water ....

170

XVI

Of Stratagems and Spoils ; and that the
Nominalists err who hold a Thing to be
what it is called .

1S2

XVII

Plow One that was dissatisfied with his
Past saw a Vision, but doubted .

191

XVIII

Of a young Man that would start upon
a dark Adventure, but had two Minds
upon it .

201

XIX

That a Silver Bullet has Virtue; wtith a
Warning to Commodores ....

215

XX

How certain Characters found Themselves,
at Dead of Night, upon the Five Lanes
Road .

229

XXI

That a very little Tea may suffice to ele¬
vate a Man .

240

XXII

In which several Attempts are made to put
a Period to this History ....

248

XXIII

How one Lover took leave of his Wits, and

TWO CAME TO THEIR SENSES ....

258

XXIV

Of the best Hellebore ; and an Experiment
in the Entertainment of Twins .

268

XXV

Which ends the Story of Trot

28l

IV

CHAPTER I

IN WHICH THE HEADER IS MADE ACQUAINTED WITH A
STATE OF INNOCENCE J AND THE MEANING OF THE
WORD “ CUMEELFO ”

“ Any news to-night ? ” asked Admiral Buzza,
leading a trump.

“ Hush, my love,” interposed his wife timidly, with
a glance at the Vicar. She liked to sit at her husband’s
left, and laid her small cards before him as so many
tributes to his greatness.

“ I will not hush, Emily. I repeat, is there any
news to-night? ”

Miss Limpenny, his hostess and vis-a-vis, finding the
Admiral’s eye fierce upon her, coughed modestly and
announced that twins had just arrived to the post¬
mistress. Her manner, as she said this, implied that,
for aught she knew, they had come with the letters.

5

Troy Town

The Vicar took the trick and gathered it up in
silence. He was a portly, antique gentleman, with
a fine taste fori'scandal in its proper place, but dis¬
liked conversation during a rubber.

“ Twins, eh ? ” growled the Admiral. " Just what
I expected. She always was a wasteful woman.”

“ My love ! ” expostulated his wife. Miss Lim-
penny’blushed.

“ They’ll come to the workhouse,” he went on,
“ and serve him right for making such a marriage.”

“ I have heard that his heart is in the right place,”
pleaded Miss Limpenny, “ but he used - ”

“ Eh, ma’am ? ”

“ It’s of no consequence,” said Miss Limpenny, with
becoming bashfulness. “ It’s only that he always
used, in sorting his cards, to sit upon his trumps —
that always seemed to me - ”

“ Just so,” replied the Admiral, “ and now it’s
twins. Bless the man ! what next ? ”

It was in the golden age, before Troy became
demoralised, as you shall hear. At present you are
to picture the drawing-room of the Misses Limpenny
arranged for an “ evening ” : the green rep curtains
drawn, the “ Book of Beauty ” disposed upon the
centre table, the ballad music on the piano, and the
Admiral’s double-bass in the comer. Six wax
candles were beaming graciously on cards, tea-cakes
and ratafias; on the pictures of “ The Lirst Drive,”
and “ The Orphan’s Dream,” the photographic views
of Troy from the harbour, the opposite hill, and one
or two other points, and finally the noted oil-painting
of Miss Limpenny’s papa as he appeared shortly
after preaching an assize sermon. Above all, the tea-

6

Troy Town

service was there — the famous set in real silver
presented to the late Reverend Limpenny by his
flock, and Miss Priscilla — she at the card-table — wore
her best brooch with a lock of his hair arranged therein
as a fleur-de-lys.

I wish I could convey to you some of the innocent
mirth of those “ evenings " in Troy — those nodes
Limpenniance when the ladies brought their cap-
boxes (though the Buzzas and Limpennys were but
semi-detached neighbours), and the Admiral and his
wife insisted on playing against each other, so that
the threepenny points never affected their weekly
accounts. Those were happy days when the young
men were not above singing the “ Death of Nelson,”
or joining in a glee, and arming the young ladies home
afterwards. In those days “ Hocken's Slip ” had
not yet become the “ Victoria Quay,” and we talked
of the “ Rope Walk ” where we now say “ Marine
Parade.” Alas ! our tastes have altered with Troy.

Yet we were vastly genteel. We even had our
shibboleth, a verdict to be passed before anything
could hope for toleration in Troy. The word to be
pronounced was “ CUMEELFO,” and all that was not
Cumeelfo was Anathema.

So often did I hear this word from Miss Lim-
penny’s lips that I grew in time to clothe it with an
awful meaning. It meant to me, as nearly as I can
explain, “ All Things Sanctioned by the Principles
of the Great Exhibition of 1851,” and included as
time went on —

Crochet Antimacassars.

Art in the style of the “ Greek Slave.”

7

Troy Town

“ Elegant Extracts,” and the British Poets as
edited by Gilfillan.

Corkscrew Curls and Prunella Boots.

Album Verses.

Quadrille-dancing, and the Deux-temps.

Popular Science.

Proposals on the bended Knee.

Conjuring and Variety Entertainments.

The Sentimental Ballad.

The Proprieties, etc., etc., etc.

The very spirit of this word breathed over the Lim-
penny drawing-room to-night, and Miss Priscilla’s
lips seemed to murmur it as she gazed across to where
her sister Lavinia was engaged in a round game with
the young people. These were Admiral Buzza’s
three daughters, Sophy, Jane, and Calypso — the
last named after her father’s old ship — and young
Mr. Moggridge, the amusing collector of customs.
They were playing with ratafias for counters (ratafias
were cumeelfo), and peals of guileless laughter from
time to time broke in upon the grave silence of the
whist-table.

For always, on such occasions, in the glow of Miss
Limpenny’s wax candles, Youth and Age held opposite
camps, with the centre table as debatable ground;
nor, until the rubber was finished, and the round game
had ended in a seemly scramble for ratafias, would the
two recognise each other’s presence, save now and
then by a “ Hush, if you please, young people,” from
the elder sister, followed by a whispered, “ What
spirits your dear girls enjoy ! ” for Mrs. Buzza’s
ear.

8

Troy Town

But at length the signal would be given by Miss
Priscilla.

“ Come, a little music perhaps might leave a
pleasant taste. What do you say. Vicar ? ”

Upon which the Vicar would regularly murmur—

“ Say, rather, would gild refined gold, Miss Lim-
penny.”

And the Admiral as invariably broke in with —

“ Come, Sophy ! remember the proverb about
little birds that can sing and won’t sing.”

This prelude having been duly recited, the Misses
Buzza would together trip to the piano, on which
the two younger girls in duet were used to accompany
Sophia’s artless ballads. The performance gained a
character of its own from a habit to which Calypso
clung, of counting the time in an audible aside : as
thus —

Sophia (singing) : “ Oh, breathe but a whispered com¬
mand."

Calypso: “One, two, three, four.”

Sophia : “ I’ll lay down my life for thee I ”

Calypso : “ One, two, three, four.”

— the effect of which upon strangers has been known
to be paralysing, though we who were cumeelfo pre¬
tended not to notice it. But Sophy could also
accompany her own songs, such as, “ Will you love
me then as now ? ” and “ I’d rather be a daisy,” with
much feeling. She was clever, too, with the water¬
colour brush, and to her we owe that picture of
“ H.M.S. Calypso in a Storm,” which hangs to this
day over the Admiral’s mantelpiece.

I could dwell on this evening for ever; not that
the company was so large as usual, but because it

9

*

Troy Town

was the last night of our simplicity. With the next
morning we passed out of our golden age, and in the
foolishness of our hearts welcomed the change.

It was announced to us in this manner —

The duets had been beaten out of Miss Limpenny’s
piano— an early Collard, with a top like a cupboard,
fluted in pink silk and wearing a rosette in front ; the
performers, on retiring, had curtseyed in acknowledg¬
ment of the Vicar’s customary remark about the
“ Three Graces ” ; the Admiral had wrung from his
double-bass the sounds we had learnt to identify with
elfin merriment (though suggestive, rather, of sea¬
sick mutineers under hatches), and our literary
collector, Mr. Moggridge, was standing up to recite
a trifle of his own — “ flung off ” — as he explained,
“ not pruned or polished.”

The hush in the drawing-room was almost painful —
for in those days we all admired Mr. Moggridge — as
the poet tossed back a stray lock from his forehead,
flung an arm suddenly out at right angles to his
person, and began sepulchrally —

“ Maiden ” —

(Here he looked very hard at Miss Lavinia Lim-
penny.)

“Maiden, what dost thou in the chill churchyard
Beside yon grassy mound ?

The night hath fallen, the rain is raining hard,

Damp is the ground.”

Mrs. Buzza shivered, and began to weep quietly.

“Maiden, why claspest thou that cold, cold stone
Against thy straining breast ?

Tell me, what dost thou at this hour alone ?

{. Persuasively ) The lambs have gone to rest.

10

Troy Town

“The maiden lifted up her tearful gaze,

And thus she made reply :

‘My mother, sir, is - ' ”

But the secret of her conduct remains with Mr.
Moggridge, for at this moment the door opened, and
the excited head of Sam Buzza, the Admiral’s only
son, was thrust into the room.

* f'la/den, <wkal~ doft tf\on ”

in (t\e eft if/ eft urefyard -

“ I say, have you heard the news ? ‘ The Bower ’
is let.”

“ What ! ”

All eyes were fixed on the newcomer. The Vicar
woke up. Even the poet, with his arm still at right
angles and the verse arrested on his lips, turned to
stare incredulously.

“ It's a fact; I heard it down at the Man-o’-War

0

II

Troy Town

Club meeting, you know,” he explained. “ Goodwyn-
Sandys is his name, the Honourable Goodwyn-
Sandys, brother to Lord Sinkport — and what’s
more, he is coming by the mid-day train to-morrow.”

The poet’s arm dropped like a railway signal.
There was a long pause, and then the voices broke
out all together —

‘‘ Only fancy ! ”

" There now ! ”

“ ' The Bower ’ let at last ! ”

“ An Honourable, too ! ”

“ What is he like? ”

“ Are you sure ? ”

“ Well, I never did ! ”

“ Miss Limpenny,” gasped the Admiral, at length,

“ where is your Burke ? ”

It lay between the “ Cathedrals of England ” and
“ Gems of Modern Art ” ; under the stereoscope.
Miss Lavinia produced it.

“ Let me see,” said the Admiral, turning the pages.
" Sinkport — Sinkport — here we are — George St.
Leonards Goodwyn-Sandys, fourth baron — H’m,
h’m, here it is— only brother, Frederic Augustus
Hythe Goodwyn-Sandys, b. 1842 — married — — ”

“ Married ! ”

“ 1876 — Geraldine, eighth daughter of Sheil
O’Halloran of Kilmacuddy Court, County Kerry —

blank space for issue — arms : gules, a bar sinist -

Ahem ! Well, upon my word ! ”

“ I’m sure,” sighed Mrs. Buzza, after the excite¬
ment had cooled a little — “ I’m sure I only hope they
will settle down to our humble ways.”

“ Emily,” snapped her husband, “ you speak like

12

Troy Town

a fool. Pooh ! Let me tell you, ma’am, that our
ways in Troy are not humble ! ”

Outside, in Miss Limpenny’s back garden, the
laurestinus bushes sighed as they caught those
ominous words. So might Eden have sighed, aware
of its serpent.

13

CHAPTER II

HOW AN ADMIRAL TOOK ONE GENTLEMAN FOR AN¬
OTHER, AND WAS TOLD THE DAY OF THE MONTH

Next morning, almost before the sun was up, all
Troy was in possession of the news ; and in Troy all
that is personal has a public interest. It is this local
spirit that marks off the Trojan from all other minds.

In consequence long before ten o’clock struck, it
was clear that some popular movement was afoot;
and by half-past eleven the road to the railway station
was crowded with Trojans of all sorts and conditions
— boatmen, pilots, fishermen, sailors out of employ,
the local photographer, men from the ship-building
yards, makers of ship’s biscuit, of ropes, of sails,
chandlers, block and pump manufacturers, loafers —
representatives, in short, of all the staple industries :
women with baskets — women with babies, women with
both, even a few farmers in light gigs with their
wives, or in carts with their families, a sprinkling
from Penpood’?, across the harbour — high and low,
Church and 1 sent, with children by the hundred.
Some even proposed to ring the church bells and fire
the cannon at the harbour’s mouth ; but the ringers
and artillerymen preferred to come and see the sight.
As it was, the “ George ” floated proudly from the
church tower, and the Fife and Drum Temperance
Band stood ready at the corner of East Street. All
Troy, in fact, was on tip-toe.

14

Troy Town

Meanwhile, as few in the crowd possessed Burke or
Debrett, the information that passed from mouth to
mouth was diverse and peculiar, but, as was remarked
by a laundress in the crowd to a friend : " He may be
the Pope o’ Rome, my dear, an’ he may be the Dook
o’ Wellington, an’ not a soul here wud know t’other
from which no mor’n if he was Adam. All I says is —
the Lord send he’s a professin’ Christian, an’ has his
linen washed reg’lar. My ! What a crush ! I only
wish my boy Jan was here to see ; but he’s stayin’ at
home, my dear, cos his father means to kill the pig
to-day, an’ the dear child do so love to hear’n
screech.”

The Admiral, who happened by the merest chance
to be sauntering along the Station Road this morning,
in his best blue frock-coat with a flower in the button¬
hole, corrected some of the rumours, but without
much success. Finding the throng so thick, he held
a long debate between curiosity and dignity. The
latter won, and he returned to No. 2, Alma Villas, in
a flutter, some ten minutes before the train was due.

By noon the crowd was growing impatient. But
hardly had the church clock chimed the hour when
the shriek of a whistle was heard from up the valley.
Amid wild excitement a puff of white smoke appeared,
then another, and finally the mid-day train steamed
serenely into the station.

As it drew up, a mild spectacled face appeared at
the window of a first-class carriage, and asked —

" Is this Troy ? ”

" Yessir — terminus. Any luggage, sir? ”

The mild face got out. It belonged to the only
stranger in the train.

15

Troy Town

“ There is only a black portmanteau,” said he.
“ Ah, that is it. I shall want it put in the cloakroom
for an hour or two while I go into the town.”

The stranger gave up his ticket — a single ticket —
and stepped outside the station. He was a mild,
thin man, slightly above middle height, with vacant
eyes and a hesitating manner. He wore a black suit,
a rather rusty top-hat, and carried a silk umbrella.

“ Here he comes ! ”

“ Look, that’s him ! ”

" Give ’un a cheer, boys.”

“ Hip, hip, hoor-roar ! ”

The sound burst upon the clear sky in a deafening
peal. The stranger paused and looked confused.

“ Dear me ! ” he murmured to himself, “ the
population here seems to be excited about something
— and, bless my soul, what a lot of it there is ! ”

He might well say so. Along the road, arms,
sticks, baskets, and handkerchiefs were frantically
waving ; men shouting and children hurrahing with
might and main. Windows were flung up; heads
protruded ; flags waved in frenzied welcome. The
tumult was stupendous. There was not a man,
woman, or child in Troy but felt the demonstration
must be hearty, and determined to make it a success.

“ What can have caused this riot ? ”

The stranger paused with a half-timid air, but after
a while resumed his walk. The shouts broke out
again, and louder than ever.

“ Welcome, welcome to Troy ! Hooroar ! One
more, lads ! Hooroar ! ” and all the handkerchiefs
waved anew.

“ Bless my soul, what is the matter? ”

16

Troy Town

Then suddenly he became aware that all this
frantic display was meant for him. How he first
learnt it he could never afterwards explain, but the
shock of it brought a deathly faintness.

“ There is some horrible mistake,” he murmured
hoarsely, and turned to run.

He was too late. The crowd had closed around
him, and swept him on, cheering, yelling, vociferating
towards the town. He feebly put up a hand for
silence —

“ My friends,” he shouted, " you are - ”

“ Yes, yes, we know. Welcome ! Welcome !
Hip-hip-hoo-roar ! ”

“ My friends, I assure you - ”

Boom! Boom! Tring-a-ring — boom!

It was that accursed Fife and Drum Temperance
Band. In a moment five-and-twenty fifers were
blowing " See, the conquering hero comes,” with all
their breath, and marching to the beat of a deafening
drum. Behind them came a serried crowd with the
stranger in its midst, and a straggling train of farmers’
gigs and screaming urchins closed the procession.

Miss Limpenny, at the first-storey window of No. I
Alma Villas, heard the yet distant din. With
trembling fingers she hung out of window a loyal
pocket-handkerchief (worn by her mother at the
Jubilee of King George III), shut down the sash
upon it, and discreetly retired again behind her white
blinds to watch.

The cheering grew louder, and Miss Limpenny’s
heart beat faster. “ I hope,” she thought to herself,
“ I hope that their high connections will not have
given them a distaste for our hearty ways. Well as

*7

Troy Town

I know Troy, I think I might be frightened at this
display of public feeling.”

She peeped out over the white blinds. Next door,
the Admiral was fuming nervously up and down his
gravel walk. He was debating the propriety of his
costume. Even yet there was time to run up-stairs
and don his cocked hat and gold-laced coat before
the procession arrived. Between the claims of his
civil and official positions the poor man was in a
ferment.

“ As a man of the world,” Miss Limpenny solilo¬
quised, “ the Honourable Frederic Goodwyn-Sandys
cannot fail to appreciate our sterling Admiral.
Dear, dear, here they come ! I do trust dearest
Lavinia has not put herself in too conspicuous a
position at the parlour window. What a lot of
people, to be sure ! ”

The crowd had gathered volume during its passage
through the town, and the “ Conquering Hero ” was
more distractingly shrill than ever. The goal was
almost reached, for “ The Bower ” stood next door
to Alma Villas, and was divided from them only by
a road which led down to the water’s edge and the
Penpoodle ferry boat.

“ Why, everybody is here,” said Miss Limpenny,
“ except, of course, the Vicar. There’s Pharaoh
Geddye waving a flag, and blind Sam Hockin and
Mrs. Hockin with him, I declare, and Bathsheba
Merryfield, and Jim the dustman, and Seth Udy in
the band — he must have taken the pledge lately —
and Walter Sibley and a score I don’t even know by
sight. And, bless my heart ! that’s old Cobbledick,
wooden leg and all ! I thought he was bed-ridden for

18

Troy Town

life. But I don’t see the arrivals yet. I wonder who
that poor man is, in the crowd — it can’t be — and

yet - Why, whatever is the Admiral doing ? ”

For Admiral Buzza had opened his front gate and
deliberately stepped out into the road.

The stranger, dishevelled, haggard and bewildered,
had long since abandoned all attempts at explanation
and fallen into a desperate apathy, when all at once
a dozen voices in front cried “ Hush ! ” The band
broke off suddenly, and the cheering died away.

" Make way for the Admiral ! ” “ Out of the

road, there ! ” “ The Admiral’s going to speak ! ”

“ Silence for the Admiral ! ”

The stranger looked up and saw through the
opening in the crowd a little man advancing, hat in
hand. He had a red face, and the importance of his
mission had lent it even a deeper tint than it usually
wore : his bald head was fringed with stiff grey hair :
he was clothed in “ pepper-and-salt ” trousers, a blue
frock-coat and waistcoat, and carried a large bunch
of primroses in his buttonhole. His step was full of
dignity and his voice of grave politeness, as he began,
with a bow —

“ Though not the accredited spokesman of my
fellow-citizens here, I am sure I shall not be deemed
presumptuous ” (cries of “ No ”) “ if I venture to
give expression to some of the kindly sentiments
which I am sure we one and all entertain upon
this auspicious occasion.” (Loud cheers.) “ For
upwards of twenty years I have now resided in
this beautiful and prosperous — I think I may use
these words ” (“ Hear, hear ! ”) “ this beautiful and
prosperous little town, and it is therefore with the

19

Troy Town

more sincere pleasure ” (here the Admiral laid his
hand upon his waistcoat) “ that I bid you welcome
to Troy.” (Frantic cheering.) “ We had hoped —
I say we had hoped — to have seen your good lady
also among us to-day : but doubtless when * The
Bower ’ is prepared — the — ahem ! the bird will fly
thither.”

Vociferous applause followed this impromptu
trope, and for some moments the Admiral’s voice
was completely drowned.

“ I hope and trust,” he went on, as soon as silence
was restored, “ that she enjoys good health.”

The stranger looked more perplexed than ever.

“ But be that as it may — be that, I say, as it may,
my pleasant duty is now discharged. In the name
of my fellow-Trojans and in my own name I bid you
a hearty welcome to ‘ The Bower.’ ” (Loud and
continuous cheering, during which the Admiral
handed his card with a flourish, and mopped his
brow.)

“ I can assure you,” replied the stranger after a
pause, “ that I am deeply sensible of your kind¬
ness— — ” (The cheering was renewed.) “ While
conscious,” he went on, “ that I have done nothing
to deserve it. In point of fact, I think you must all
be labouring under some ridiculous delusion.”

“ What do you mean, sir? ” gasped the Admiral.
‘‘ Do you mean to say you are not the new tenant of
this delightful residence ? ” Then the speaker waved
Iris hand in the direction of “ The Bower.”

“ Certainly I am not.”

“Then, damme, sir! who are you?,” cried the
Admiral, whose temper was, as we know, short.

20

Troy Town

“ My name is Fogo,” replied the stranger. “ Here
is my card — Philip Fogo — at your service.”

Even Miss Limpenny, with the first-floor window of
No. i timidly lifted to admit the Admiral’s eloquence;
even the three Misses Buzza, arranged in a row behind
the parlour blinds of No. 2, and gazing with fond
pride upon their papa ; even Mrs. Buzza, nervously
clasping her hands on the upper storey could not
but perceive that something dreadful was happening.
The Admiral’s face turned from crimson to purple ;
he positively choked.

The situation needed a solution. A wag among the
crowd hit upon it.

“ Tell th’ Admiral, some of ’ee : what day es et ? ”

" Fust of April ! ” cried a voice, then another; and
then -

Then the throng broke into roar upon roar of in¬
extinguishable laughter. The whole deluded town
turned and cast its April folly, as a garment, upon
the Admiral’s shoulders. It was in vain that he
stamped and raved and swore. They only held their
sides and laughed the louder.

The credit of Trojan humour was saved. With a
final oath the Admiral dashed through his front gate
and into the house. The volgus infidum formed in
procession again, and marched back with shouts of
merriment ; the fiofularis aura of the five-and-
twenty fifers resumed the “ Conquering Hero,” and
Mr. Fogo was left standing alone in the middle of the
road.

21

CHAPTER III

OF A BLUE-JERSEYED MAN THAT WOULD HOIST NO
MORE bricks; AND A NIGHTCAP THAT HAD NO
BUSINESS TO BE WHERE IT WAS

No one acquainted with the character of that
extraordinary town will be surprised when I say that,
within an hour after the occurrences related in the
last chapter, Troy had resumed its workday quiet.
By two o’clock nothing was to be heard but the tick-
tack of mallets in the ship-building yards, the puffing
of the steam-tug, the rattle of hawsers among the
vessels out in the harbour, and the melodious “ Woo-
hoo ! ” of a crew at capstan or windlass. Troy in
carnival and Troy sober are as opposite, you must
know, as the poles. Fun is all very well, but business
is business, and Troy is a trading port with a character
to keep up : for who has not heard the bye-word —
“ Working like a Trojan ” ?

At two o’clock on this same day a little schooner
lay alongside the town quay, busily discharging
bricks. That is to say, a sunburnt man, blue-
jerseyed and red with brick-dust, leisurely turned a
windlass which let down an empty bucket and brought
it up full. Another blue-jerseyed man, also sunburnt
and red with brick-dust, then pulled it on shore,
emptied and returned it; and the operation was
repeated. A choleric little man, of about fifty, pre¬
sumably the proprietor of the bricks, stood on the

22

Troy Town

edge of the quay, and swore alternately at the man
with the windlass and the man ashore.

“ Look 'ere,” said the man at the windlass, after
a bit. " Stop cussin’. This ain’t a hurdy-gurdy,
and if you expec’s music you’ll have to toss us a
copper.”

The owner of the bricks swore worse than ever.

Round went the windlass as leisurely as might be
and another bucketful wa6 hoisted ashore. The man
on deck spat on his hands, and broke into cheerful
song : —

“Was you iver to Que-bec,

Bonnie laddie, Hieland laddie
Was you iver to Que-bec,

Rousing timber over the deck ?

Hey my bonny laddie !

Wur-roo 1 my heart’s - ”

The rage of the little man found extra vent.

" Look here, Caleb Trotter,” he concluded, after
a full minute of profanity, “ how do you think I’m to
get my living and pay a set of lubberly dolts like
you ? ”

Caleb paused with his hand on the windlass, and
suggested retrenchment of the halfpenny a week
hitherto spent in manners. " ’Cos, you see, all this
po-liteness of yourn es a’runnin’ to waste,” he ex¬
plained with fine irony.

But before the next load was more than three-
parts hoisted, Caleb’s patience was exhausted. What
he did was simple but decisive. He removed his
hold; the handle whizzed violently round, and the
bucket of bricks descended to the hold with a crash.

"Now I tell ’ee straight. Enough’s enough; an'

I han’t got time, at my time o’ life, to be po-lite to

23

Troy Town

ivery red-faced chap I meets. You can pay me or no,
as you likes; but I’m off to get a drink. An’ that’s
all about et; an’ wen 'tes over, 'tes over, as Joan
said by her weddin’.”

With this Caleb stepped ashore, spat good-
naturedly, put his hands in his pockets, and went off
whistling.

At this moment Mr. Fogo, who had been on the
quay long enough to hear this altercation, touched
him softly by the arm.

“You said you were going to have a drink, I
believe. May I go with you? I wish to ask you a
few questions.”

“ Sutt’nly, sir,” said Caleb with a stifled grin, as
he recognised the hero of the morning. “ I generally
patronises the ‘ King o’ Prooshia ’ for beer. It won’t
make your hair curl, nor yet prevent your seein’ a
hole dro’ a ladder : but perhaps neither o’ these is
your objec’.”

Mr. Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly
that he pursued neither of these aims. Caleb led the
way across the quay, and they ascended the steps
of the “ King of Prussia ” together.

“ My object,” said Mr. Fogo timidly, as they were
seated together in the low-roofed parlour before two
foaming mugs— “ My object was this. In the first
place, I like your look.”

Same to you, sir,” said Caleb, and acknowledged
the compliment with a draught, “ though 'tes what
my gal said afore she desarted me for a Rooshan.”

“ Are you a single man, then ? ”

“ To be sure, sir.”

“ So much the better— but I will talk of that

24

Troy Town

presently. I, too, am a single man, with rather
peculiar tastes. One of these is solitude. I had
heard of Troy as a place where I was likely to find
this, though my experience of this morning - ”

“ Never mind, sir. Accidents will happen even
in the best reggylated families. You was took for
another, which has happened even to Bible characters
afore this — though Jacob’s the only one I can call
to mind just now.”

“ Still, I should be sorry to go back with the know-

25

Troy Town

ledge that my journey has been in vain. But I must
have solitude at any price, and the reason why
I am consulting you is that you might possibly know
of a house to let in this neighbourhood, where I
could be alone and secure against visitors.”

Caleb scratched his head.

“ I’m sure, sir, ’tes hard to say. Troy’s a powerful
place for knowin’ what your neighbour’s got for
dinner, and they do say as the Admiral’s telescope
will carry dro’ a brick wall.”

Mr. Fogo’s face fell.

“ Stop a bit,” said Caleb more brightly. “ About
livin’ inside o’ the town, now — es that a shiny
cannon ? ”

“ A what ? ”

“ A shiny cannon — which es tire same as to say,
won’t et do elst ? ”

“ Oh, a sine-qua-non ,” said Mr. Fogo; “ no, I am
not particularly anxious to live in the town itself.”

“ Wud the matter of a mile up the river be out
o’ the way? ”

“ Not at all.”

“ An’ about rent ? ”

“ Within reasonable limits, that would not matter.”

“ Then my advice to you, sir, es to see the Twins
about et.”

Mr. Fogo’s mild face looked more puzzled than ever.
He removed his spectacles, wiped and resumed them.

“ For any reasonable object,” he said, “ I am ready
to see any number of twins — much as I dislike
babies - ”

But here Caleb interrupted him by bursting into
a roar of laughter which lasted for half a minute.

26

Troy Town

“ Babbies ! Well I — ho ! ho ! — ’scuse me, sir —

but aw dear, aw dear ! Babbies ! Bab - ” Here

he slapped his thigh and broke into another roar, at
the end of which he grew fairly black in the face.

“ Bless yer innocent heart, sir ! They’m a matter
o’ six foot high, the both — and risin’ forty. Dear-
love’s their name— and lives up the river ’long wi’
their sister — Peter an’ Paul an’ Tamsin (which es
short for Thom-a-si-na), an’ I’ve heerd tell as the
boys came nigh to bein’ chrisn’d Sihon an’ Og, on’y
the old Vicar said he’d be blowed fust — very free wi’
his langwidge was th’ ould Vicar.”

“ I should fancy so,” said Mr. Fogo ; " but you’ll
excuse me if I don’t quite see, yet, why you advise
me to call on these people.”

“ No offence, sir. On’y they owns Kit’s House,
that’s ah.”

“ I see ; and Kit’s House is the place you have in
your mind.”

“ That’s et, sir.”

“ And these Dearloves, where do they live ? ”

“ Furder up the river by two mile.”

“ Could you row me up this afternoon to see
them? ”

Caleb Trotter rose, and drew the back of his hand
across his mouth.

“ Wi’ all the pleasure in life, sir, as Uncle Zachy
said when he gi’ed his da’ ter in marriage.”

In less than ten minutes Caleb had brought his
boat round to the quay. Mr. Fogo stepped in, and
was presently seated in the stern and meditatively
listening while Caleb rowed — and talked — “ like
a Trojan.”

27

Troy Town

Here we may leave them for a while and return
to the Admiral, whom we left in the act of plunging
furiously into his own house. It was not the habit
of that fiery little tar to hide his emotions from the
wife of his bosom.

“ Emily ! ” he bellowed, “ Em-i-ly, I say ! Come
down this instant.”

The three Misses Buzza at the parlour window
knew the tone, and shuddered : Mrs. Buzza, up-stairs,
heard, trembled, and obeyed.

“ Yes, darling. What is it? ”

" Fill the warming-pan at once. I’m going to
bed.”

“ To bed, love ! ”

“Yes, to bed. Don’t I speak plainly enough?
To bed, ma’am, to bed, and at once.”

“ You are upset, dearest; be cool, I implore you.”

“ Be cool ! Be coo’ - Don’t hector me, ma’am,

but fetch that warming-pan at once. I’ll teach you
about being cool ! Sophy, pull off my boots.”

They obeyed. The warming-pan was brought—
an enormous engine, big enough to hold the Admiral
himself— and the bed heated. The Admiral un¬
dressed, and, himself a warming-pan of rage, plunged
between the sheets. It was a wonder the bed-clothes
were not on fire.

“ Pull down the blind, and bring me something
to eat ! ”

“ Yes, love.”

" And be quick about it. Can’t you see I’m
starving? ”

It is true that the Admiral’s excitement had
interfered with his breakfast that morning, but it

28

Troy Town

was none the less difficult to read starvation upon his
face. Mrs. Buzza obeyed, however; and presently
returned with the liver-wing of a fowl.

“You call that a dinner for a hungry man, I
suppose ! Bring me some more ! ”

“ My dear, I didn’t know you wanted a dinner.”

“ Confound it, ma’am ! must I put dress-studs
in my night-shirt to convince you I want to dine?
Bring me some more ! ”

“ There is no more fowl, dear. I kept this from
yesterday’s as a tit-bit for you.”

“ What is for dinner to-day? ”

“ Boiled beef : but you said expressly that dinner
was to be late to-day, in consequence of the arrivals,
and it is not nearly done yet.”

“ I don’t care, bring it ! ”

The mention of the arrivals sent the Admiral up
to a white heat again.

“ But, my - ”

“ Bring it ! ”

It was brought. The Admiral had two helpings,
and then a glass of grog.

“ Go.”

Mrs. Buzza withdrew. Left to himself, the Admiral
tossed, and turned, and fumed, and swore, lay still
for a while, and then repeated the process backwards.
After a time the bed-clothes began to prick him, and
the heat to become a positive torture. He leapt out,
and tore at the bell-rope, until it came away in his
hand — just as his wife reappeared.

“ Will you kindly inform me what the devil’s
wrong with this bed ? Who made it ? ”

“ Selina, dear.”

29

Troy Town

“ Then will you kindly give Selina a month’s
notice on the spot? Do you hear? On the spot —
What’s that? ”

The Admiral rushed to the window and pulled up
the blind. He was just in time to see a close carriage
and pair dash past and pull up at “ The Bower.”

A moment afterwards, Miss Limpenny, from the
first-storey window of No. i, saw the carriage door
open, and a tall gentleman emerge. The tall gentle¬
man was followed by a lady, whom even at that
distance Miss Limpenny could see to possess a remark¬
ably graceful figure. A small youth in livery sprang
down from beside the coachman and helped to lower
the boxes, whilst the new arrivals passed into the
house where the charwoman, Mrs. Snell, stood
smearing her face with her apron, and ducking in
frenzied welcome.

The Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Goodwyn-
Sandys and his wife, instead of arriving by train, had
posted from Five-Lanes Junction.

There was no public demonstration. They might
as well have come in the dead of night. Miss Lim¬
penny was almost the sole witness of their arrival,
and Miss Limpenny’s observations were cut short by
a terrible occurrence.

She had taken stock of the Honourable Frederic,
and pronounced him “ aristocratic-looking ” ; of the
Honourable Mrs. Frederic’s travelling-dress, and
decided it to be Cumeelfo ; she had counted the
boxes twice, and made them seven each time; she
was about to count the buttons on the liveried youth,
when -

To this day she sinks her voice as she narrates it.

30

Troy Town

She saw — the unseemliness, the monstrous indelicacy
of it ! — she saw — the nightcap and shoulders of
Admiral Buzza craning out of the next-door window !

What happened next ? Whether she actually
fainted, or merely kept her eyes shut, she cannot
clearly remember. But for weeks afterwards, as
she declares, the sight of a man caused her to “ turn
all colours.”

It was significant, this nightcap of Admiral Buzza —
as the ram’s horn to Jericho, the Mother Carey’s
chicken to the doomed ship. It announced, even
as it struck, the first blow at the old morality of
Troy.

3i

CHAPTER IV

OF CERTAIN LEPERS; AND TWO BROTHERS, WHO,
BEING MUCH ALIKE, LOVED THEIR SISTER, AND
RECOMMENDED THE USE OF GLOBES

I must here clear myself on a point which has no
doubt caused the reader some indignation. "We
remarked,” he or she will say, " that, some chapters
back, the Admiral described Troy as a ‘ beautiful
little town.’ Why, then, have we had no description
of it, no digressions on scenery, no word-painting? ”
To this I answer — Dear sir, or madam, no one who
has known Troy was ever yet capable of describing
it. If you doubt me, visit the town and see for
yourself. I will for the moment suppose you to do
so. What happens?

On the first day you take a boat and row about the
harbour. " Scenery ! ” you exclaim, “ why, what
could you have more ? Here is a lovely harbour
flanked by bold hills to right and left; here are the
ruined castles, witnesses of the great days when
Troy sent ships to carry the English army to Agin-
court ; here are grey houses huddled at the water’s
edge, hoary, battered walls and quay-doors coated
with ooze and green weed. Such is Troy, and on the
further shore quaint Penpoodle faces it, where a
silver creek, dividing, runs up to Lanbeg ; further up,
the harbour melts into a river where the old ferry-boat
plies to and from the foot of a tiny village straggling
up the hill; further yet, and the jetties mingle with

32

Troy Town

the steep woods beside the roads, where the vessels
he thickest; ships of all builds and of all nations,
from the trim Canadian timber-ship to the corpulent
Billy-boy. Why, the very heart of the picturesque
is here. What more can you want? ”

On the second day you will see all this from the
harbour again, or perhaps you will cross the ferry
and climb the King’s Walk on the opposite bank;
you will see it all, but with a change. It is more
lovely, but not the same.

On the third day you will cast about in your mind
to explain this ; and so in time you will come to find
that it is the spirit of Troy that plays this trick upon
you. For you will have learnt to love the place,
and love, as you know, dear sir or madam, is apt to
affect the eyesight.

The eyes of Mr. Fogo, as Caleb pulled sturdily
up with the tide, were passing through the first
of these stages.

“ This,” he said at length, reflectively, “ is one
of the loveliest spots I have looked upon.”

Caleb, in whom humanity and Trojanity were nicely
compounded, flushed a bright copper-colour with
pleasure.

“ ’Tes reckoned a tidy spot,” he answered modestly,
“ by them as cares for voos an’ such-like.”

“ There, now,” he went on, after a pause, and turn¬
ing round, “ yonder’s Kit’s House, wi’ Kit’s Cottage,
next door. You can’t see the house so plain, 'cos
’tes behind the trees. But there ’tes, right enough.”

” Is the cottage uninhabited, too? ”

" Both on 'em. Ha’nted they do say. By the
way, I niver axed ’ee whether you minded ghostes ? ”
c 33

Troy Town

“ Ghosts? "

“ Iss, ghostes. This 'ere place was a Lazarus
one time, where they kept leppards.”

“Leopards? How very singular!” murmured
Mr. Fogo.

“ Ay, leppards as white as snow, as the sayin’ goes.”

“ Oh, I see,” said Mr. Fogo, suddenly enlightened.
“ You mean that this was a Lazar-house.”

“ That’s so — a Lazarus. The leppards used to
live there together, and when they died, they was
berried at dead o’ night down at thicky spit you sees
yonder. No one had dealin's wi’ ’em nor went nigh
’em, 'cept that they was allowed to make ropes.
’Tesn’ so many years that the rope- walk was moved
down to th’ harbour mouth.”

Caleb stopped rowing, and leant forward on his
paddles.

“ These ’ere leppards in time got to be quite a
happy famb’ly — 'cept, of course, they wam’t happy,
'cos nobody wudn’ have nuthin’ to say to ’em. Well,
the story goes as one on ’em got failed in love wi’
by a very nice gal down in Troy, and one fine day
she ups an’ tells her sorrowin’ parents that she’s
agoin’ to marry a leppard. ‘ Not ef we knows et/
says they ; ‘ we forbids the banns ’ ; and wi’ that
they went off to bed thinkin’ as they’d settled et.
‘ But,’ says Parson Lasky - ”

“ Who was he? ” interrupted Mr. Fogo.

“ On’y a figger o’ speech, sir, and nothin’ to do wi’
the yarn, as the strollin’ actor said when his theayter
cotched a-fire. Wot I meant was, that very night
the gal gets a boat an’ rows up to Kit’s House, arter
leavin’ a letter to say as she’d drownded hersel'.

34

Troy Town

An’ there she lived in hidin’, ’long wi’ the leppards
for the rest of her days, which, by the tale, warn’t
many, an’ she an’ her sweetheart was berried in
wan grave.” Caleb paused for breath.

“ And the ghosts ? ” said Mr. Fogo, much interested.

" Some ha’ seed her rowin’ about here in a boat,
o’ dark nights; and others swear to seein’ all the
leppards a-marchin’ down wi’ her corpse to the
berryin’-ground. Leastways, that’s the tale. Jan
Spettigue was the last as seed ’em, but as he be’eld
three devils on his own chimbly-piece the week arter,
along o’ too much rum, p’r’aps he made a mistake.
Anyways, ’tes a moral yam, an’ true to natur’.
These young wimmen es a very detarmined sex,
whether ’tes a leppard in the case or a Rooshan.”

Mr. Fogo had fallen into a reflective silence.

“ 'Tes a thousand pities this ’ere place should be
empty, wi’ a lean-to Crystal Pallis— by which I
means a conserva-tory, sir — an’ gardens, an’ room for
a cow, an’ a Pyll o’ ets own - ”

“ A what ? ”

“ Pyll, sir, otherwise a creek — ‘ c, r, double e, k —
an arm o’ the sea,’ as the spellin’ book says.”

A curious fascination stole over Mr. Fogo as he
looked earnestly at the house round which these
memories hung. Standing on an angle formed by
the bending river, and the little creek, and behind
a screen of trees — elms almost too old to feel the sap
of spring, a chestnut or two, and a few laurels and
sombre firs, that had cracked with their roots the
grey garden wall and sprawled down to the beach
below — the stained and yellow frontage looked down
towards the busy harbour, as it seemed with a sense
c 2 35

Troy Town

of serene decay, haunted but without disquietude,
like the face of an old lady who has memories and
lives in them, though she deigns to contemplate
a life from which her hopes, with her old friends and
lovers, have dropped out. Perhaps Mr. Fogo had
some sympathy with this mood; for Caleb, after
waiting some time for his reply, took to his paddles
again with a will, and presently the boat, sweeping
round a projecting rock, passed into a very different
scene.

Here the river, shut in on the one side with budding
trees to the water’s edge, on the other with bracken
and patches of ploughed land to where the cliffs
broke sheer away, stretched for some miles without
bend or break. Far ahead a blue bank of woodland
closed the view. Not a sound disturbed the stillness,
not a sail broke the placid expanse of water.

But a true Trojan must still be talking. Presently
Caleb resumed.

“ 'Tes a luvly spot, as you said, sir. Mr. Moggridge
down at the customs — he’s a poet, as maybe you
know — has written a mint o’ verses about this ’ere
place. ‘ Natur’,’ he says : —

‘‘Natur’ has ’ere assoomed her softest garb;

’Ere would I live an’ die

— which I calls a very touchin’ sentiment, an’ like
what they says in a nigger song.”

With such conversation Mr. Trotter beguiled the
way until they came abreast of a tiny village almost
buried in apple trees and elms. On the opposite
bank, a thin column of blue smoke was curling up
from among the dense woodland.

36

Troy Town

Caleb headed the boat for this smoke, ran her nose
on the pebbles beneath a low cliff, and stepped out.

“ 'Ere we are, sir.”

“ But I don’t see any house,” said Mr. Fogo,
perplexed.

“ All in good time, sir,” replied Mr. Trotter, and
having fastened up the boat, led the way.

A narrow flight of steps, hewn out of the rock,
led up to the little cliff. At the top, and almost
hidden by bushes, stood a low gate. Thence the
path wound for a space between walls of budding
hazel, and at its end quite unexpectedly a tiny
cottage burst upon Mr. Fogo’s view.

Little dreaming that the owner of Kit’s House
could live in such humility, he was considerably
surprised when Caleb stepped up and struck a rousing
knock upon the door.

It was opened by a comely girl with a white apron
pinned before her neat stuff gown, and a face as fresh
and healthful as a spring day.

" Why, Caleb,” she cried, “ who would have
thought it? Come inside; you’re as welcome as
flowers in May.”

“ And you,” replied Caleb gallantly, " are a-lookin’
so sweet as blossom. Here’s a gentlem’n come to
call upon ’ee, my dear. An’ how’s Peter an’ Paul?
Brave, I hopes.”

“ Both, thank you, Caleb,” said the maiden,
curtseying without embarrassment to Mr. Fogo.
“ Won’t you come in, sir? ”

It was noticeable that Mr. Fogo at this point became
very nervous, but he crossed the threshold in answer
to this invitation. Mr. Trotter followed.

37

Troy Town

The fragrant smoke of a wood fire filled the room
in which Mr. Fogo found himself. It was a rude
kitchen, with white limeash floor, and for ceiling,
a few whitewashed beams and the planching of the
bedroom above. All was scrupulously clean. In
the flickering obscurity of the chimney depended
a line of black pot-hooks and hangers ; a trivet and
a pair of bellows furnished the hearth ; from the
capacious rack hung a rich stock of hams and sides
of bacon, curing in the smoke ; an English clock stood
in one comer, a tall cupboard in another, and a
geranium in the window-seat. Along the side
opposite the door, and parallel to a dresser of shining
crockery, ran a strong deal table. Some high-backed
chairs, a pair of brass candlesticks with snuffers,
a book or two, a few old hats, and a lanthom, on
various pegs, completed the furniture of the place.

But Mr. Fogo’s gaze was riveted on two men who
rose together at his entrance from the table where
they were seated, side by side, at their tea.

Both tall, both adorned with crisp curls of black
hair — with clean-shaven, mahogany faces, and the
gentlest of possible smiles, the twins came forward
to greet the stranger. So appallingly alike were
they that Mr. Fogo felt a ridiculous desire to ran away,
nor could help fancying himself the victim of a dis¬
ordered dream.

The Twins advanced upon him simultaneously
with outstretched horny palms. He noticed that
even their dress was precisely similar, with the single
exception that one wore a red, the other a yellow
bandanna handkerchief loosely knotted about his
throat.

38

Troy Town

“ You’m kindly welcome, sir," said the Twin with
the red bandanna; and the Twin with the yellow
neck-cloth murmured “ kindly welcome,” like an
echo.

" Stop a bit,” interposed Caleb, " let's do a bit of
introducin'. This here es Mr. Fogo, gent, as es
thinkin’ of rentin’ Kit’s House, and es come for that

Kim. J imultcincou.-ly

puppos’. That there es Peter Dearlove — him wi’
the red neckercher ; likewise Paul Dearlove — him wi'
the yaller. An’, beggin’ yer pardon for passin’ over
the ladies, this es Tamsin Dearlove (christ’n’d
Thomasina), dearly beloved sister o’ the same,”
concluded Caleb, with a sudden recollection of having
read something like this on a tombstone.

Tamsin curtseyed, and the two horny palms were
again presented. Not knowing which to take first,

39

Troy Town

Mr. Fogo held his umbrella between his knees and
gave them a hand a-piece.

“ I am afraid, Mr. - ” He hesitated with a

suspicion that he ought to say “ Messrs.”

“ Dearlove,” suggested Caleb; “an’ reckoned a
purty name, too.”

“ I am afraid, Mr. Dearlove,” repeated Mr. Fogo,
compromising matters by staring hard between the
Twins, “ that we have interrupted you.”

“ Not at all, sir,” said Peter. “ Sit down, sir,
ef you’rn not proud. Tamsin, bring a cup for the
gentleman. A piece o’ pasty, sir ? Tamsin es
famous for pasties.”

Mr. Fogo, remembering that, with the exception
of the mug of beer at the “ King of Prussia,” he had
not broken his fast since the morning, and seeing also
that the hospitality was anxiously sincere, complied.
In a few moments both he and Caleb were seated
before a steaming pasty.

Tamsin poured out the tea. She was a full twenty
years younger than her brothers, as could be seen
notwithstanding their boyish look, which came from
innocence and clean-shaven faces. It was pleasant to
see their almost fatherly pride in her. Mr. Fogo
noted it vaguely, but an inexplicable nervousness
seemed to have overtaken him since entering the
cottage.

“ I came,” he said at last, " to inquire about Kit’s
House, which I hear is to let.”

“ Thankin’ you kindly, sir,” answered Peter; “ an’
I won’t say but what we shall be glad to let et. But
Paul and I ha’ been puttin’ our heads togither, and
wre allow ’tes for Tamsin to say.”

40

Troy Town

Here he looked at Paul, who nodded gravely and
repeated, in his former mechanical tone, “ for Tamsin
to say.”

Mr. Fogo looked more distressed than ever.

“ I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” he began, with
a quick glance at the girl, who was quietly pouring
tea; “ I did not know.”

“ No offence, sir. On’y, don’t you see, 'tes this
way. Kit’s House es a gran’ place wi’ a slaty roof
an' a I-talian garden, and a mighty deal too fine for
the likes of Paul an’ me. But wi' Tamsin ’tes another
thing. We both agree she ought to be a leddy — not
but what she’s a better gal than tens o’ thousands
o’ leddies — an’ more than once we’ve offered to get
her larnt the pi-anner an’ callysthenics, an’ the use
o’ globes, an’ all such things which we knows to be
usual in gran’ sussiety ; on’y she sticks to et to bide
along wi’ we. God bless her ! I say, an’ a rough
life et must be for her.”

Tamsin turned away towards the fireplace, and
became very busy among the pot-hooks and hangers.
Her brother pulled out a red handkerchief — a fellow
to the one around his neck — mopped his face and
proceeded —

“ Well, as I was a-saying, seein’ she was bent on
bein’ wi’ us, Paul and me allowed to each other that
we’d set up in fine style at Kit’s House, so as not to
rob her of what es her doo : that es to say — one of
us wou’d live down there wi’ a car’ge and pair o’
hosses, and cut a swell wi’ dinner parties an’ what-not,
while the other bided here an’ tilled ’taties, turn and
turn about. But she wudn’ hear o’ that, neither.
She's a terrible stubborn gal, bless her ! ”

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“ We shou’d ha’ been slow at lamin’ the ropes,
just at fust,” he resumed after a moment’s silence,
“ not bein’ scholards, partikler at the use o’ globes,
which I have heerd es diffycult, though very enter¬
tainin’ in company when you knows how 'tes done.
But we was ready to try a hand — on’y she wudn’
have et, an’ so et has gone on. But, beggin’ your
pardon, sir, and hopin’ no offence, she shall give her
answer afore ’tes too late. Eh, Paul ? ”

“ You have spoken, Peter,” said the other twin,
very slowly, “ like a printed book. Let Tamsin
speak her mind about et.”

The girl came forward from the' fireplace, and Mr.
Fogo, as he stole a glance at her, could see that her
eyes were red.

“ What do ’ee say, Tamsin ? Must we let Kit’s
House, or shall we leave th’ ould place an’ go an'
make a leddy of 'ee ? ”

Tamsin’s reply was to fall on her knees before the
speaker and break into a fit of weeping.

“ Don’t ask me, don’t ask me 1 I don’t want to
be a lady, an’ I won’t leave you. Don’t ask me, my
dear, dear brothers ! ”

Peter stroked the dark head buried in his lap,
while Paul blew his nose violently in a yellow
bandanna, and replied to Mr. Fogo.

“ Very well, sir, so be et. There’s the key of
Kit’s House yonder on the nail. Ef you likes to look
over the place, one of us will follow you presently,
and then, supposin’ et to be to your likin’, us can
talk over terms.”

42

CHAPTER V

HOW AN ABSENT-MINDED MAN, THAT HATED WOMEN,
TOOK A HOUSE BY THE WATER-SIDE, AND LIVED
THEREIN WITH ONE SERVANT

“ Well, sir,” said Caleb Trotter, when the boat
was pushed off, “ what do ’ee think of ’em ? ”

Mr. Fogo, whose wits had been wool-gathering,
came to himself with a start. “ I think they are
very good people.”

“ You may say that ! The likes o’ those Twins
you won’t see again, not ef you live to be a hundred.
Seems to me,” he went on reflectively, “ that Natur’,
when she turned out the fust, got so pleased wi’
herself that she was bound to try her hand at a
dooplicity, just to relieve her feelin’s.”

“ A what ? ”

“ A dooplicity, sir, otherwise another of the same
identical.”

" Oh, I see.”

" Iss, sir. ’Tes like that rhyme about the Force
o’ Natur’ what cudn’ no furder go, and you can’t
do ’t agen, not ef you try all you know.”

“ You are fond of poetry, I see,” said Mr. Fogo,
with a smile.

“ Puffec’ly dotes on et, sir.”

“ Have you ever composed any yourself ? ”

“ Once ’pon a time, sir,” said Caleb, pausing in his
work, and leaning forward very mysteriously. “ Ef

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Troy Town

you cares to hear, I don’t mind tellin' 'ee ; on’y you
must gi’ me your Davy you won’t let et out to
nobody.”

Mr. Fogo gave the required promise.

“ Well, ’twas in this way. Once ’pon a time, me
an’ old Joe Bonaday was workin’ a smack round from
Bristol. The Betsy Ann was her name. No. 1077 o’
Troy. Joe was skipper, an’ me mate; there was a
boy aboard for crew, but he don’t count. Well us
got off Ilfrycombe one a’ternoon — August month et
was, an’ pipin’ hot — when my blessed parlyment,
says Molly Franky - ”

“Who was she?”

“ Another figger o’ speech, sir, that’s all. Well,
as I was a-sayin’, on a sudden, lo and be’old ! the
breeze drops dead. Ef you’ll believe me, sir, ’twas
calm as the Sar’gossa Sea. So there we was stuck —
the sail not so much as flappin’ — for the best part o’
two hour; at the end o’ which time (Joe not bein’
a convussational man beyond sayin’ ‘ thankye ’
when he got hes vittles) I was gettin' a bit dumb-
foundered for topicks to talk ’pon. 'Cos, as for the
weather, there ’twas, an’, as Joe remarked, ’twasn'
going to move any more for our discussin’ of et, nor
yet cussin’ for that matter.”

“ I see.”

“ Well, sir, we was driven at last to singin’ a hymn
to keep our speerits up. Leastways, the boy an’
me sang, an’ Joe beat time. Then says Joe, ‘ Look
’ere, I’m a-goin’ to allee-couchee ef et lasts like this.'
‘ Well,’ I says, for I was gettin’ desprit, * have 'ee
ever tried to make poetry? ' ‘ No,’ says he, ‘ can’t

say I have.’ ‘ Well,’ I says, ‘ I’ve oft’n wanted to,

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Troy Town

Let’s ha’ a shy. You go aft and think of a verse,
an’ I’ll go forra’d an’ make another, an’ then us’ll
see which sounds best.’ ‘ Done,' says he, an’ off
he goes.

“ Well, I sits there for mor’n an hour, thinkin’ hard,
and terrable work I found et. At last Joe shouts
across, ‘ Hav’ee done ? Time’s up ’ ; and I told ’un
I’d done purty middlin’. So us stepped amidships,
and spoke out what us had made.”

Caleb made a long pause.

“ I should like to hear the verses, if you remember
them,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ Should ’ee now ? ” Caleb asked with fine modesty.
“ Well, I don’t mind, on’y you mus'n’ expect ’em
to be like Maister Moggridge’s. Mine went thicky
way.” He recited very slowly, with a terrific rolling
of syllables : —

“ See her glidin’ dro’ the water,

Far, far away !

Many a true heart’s niver to be found.

The last fine alludes to my gal wot had recently
e-loped wi’ the Rooshan,” Caleb explained.

“ Was that all ? ”

“ That was all o’ mine, sir, but Joe’s was p’ints
better. Just listen : —

“ Fare thee well, Barnstaple steeple, —

(He was a Barnstaple man, sir, was Joe) —

Fare thee well, I say,

Never shall I see thee, once agen, a long time ago.

Well, sir, we was just a-goin’ to step back an’ have
another shy, when the breeze sprang up a’most as

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Troy Town

sudden as et fell, and the consikence es, sir, that I’ve
niver made no more poetry from that day to this.”

The sun was getting low, as Mr. Fogo and Caleb
stepped ashore on the ruined quay at Kit’s House,
not far from the spit of land where the lazars were
buried. Kit’s Cottage stood plain to see at a short
distance from the water, but Kit’s House lay to the
right, behind its screen of laurels and elms. A narrow
flight of steps and a path along the cliff’s edge brought
the visitors to the front door.

It was a long, low house, with pointed windows on
the upper storey, and a deep verandah shading the
ground-floor rooms. It faced the south, and although
few flowers were out, the ruined garden was luxuriant
with decay. One could see where the old Lazar-house
had been overlaid with the taste of more recent
inhabitants, but, as Caleb said, no one had lived here
now for a dozen years or more. The walls were
smeared with green vegetation ; the iron gate creaked
heavily with rust. On the roof the stonecrop
flourished, and the swallows had built their nests
about the chimneys.

Indoors it was as bad. Rich papers hung and
rotted from the walls; rats scampered about the
floors overhead; a smell of damp and mouldiness
pervaded every room.

" Deary me, sir ! ” said Caleb in despair, “ I'd
no idee 'twas as bad as this, or I wou’dn’ have
mentioned the place to ’ee.”

An old barrel stood on end before the French-
window of the drawing-room. Mr. Fogo seated him¬
self on this, and gazed meditatively out on the mellow
glory of the evening.

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Troy Town

“ Caleb,” he said very quietly, after a while,
“ I think I shall take this house.”

“ You will, sir? ”

“ I fancy there will be no difficulty in arranging
about the rent. And now I want to speak with you
on another question. You are a single man, you say.
Have you any employment? ”

" Why, sir, I mostly picks up my livin’ on the
say, on’y I thought as how I’d like a spell ashore for
a change; but the end o’ that you saw for yourself
this very a’temoon.”

" Do you think that for a pound a week you could
look after me ? ”

“ I’d like the chance.”

" That would exclude your food and clothes.”

Caleb hesitated for a moment, and then said,
with Trojan independence —

“ You beant’ a-goin’ to rig me out in a yailer
weskit an’ small-clothes wi’ a stripe down the leg,
by any chance? ”

“ I was proposing that you should dress exactly as
you do at present.”

“ Then done wi’ you, sir, an’ thank 'ee. When
be I to enter on my dooties ? ”

“ At once.”

“ An’ where, sir ? ”

" Here.”

“ Be you a-goin’ to sleep the night in this
moloncholy place ? ”

“ Certainly.”

“ Very well, sir. Please yoursel’, as Dick said to
the press-gang. An’ what be I to do fust ?

Mr. Fogo perhaps did not hear the question, for

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Troy Town

he was gazing out at the falling shadows : when he
spoke again it was upon another subject.

“ It is right that you should know,” said he, “ the
kind of life you will be wanted to lead. In the first
place, I am extraordinarily subject to fits of ab¬
straction-absence of mind, in other words. It is
an affection to which my style of life has made me
particularly prone : it has led me before now into
absurd, and sometimes into dangerous situations.”

“ I have heard tell,” said Caleb, “ of an old
gentl’m’n as carefully tucked hes umbrella in bed an’
put hissel’ in the corner. Es that the style o’ thing,
sir? ”

“ It is something similar,” said his master, “ and
within certain limits I should expect you to look after
me and as far as possible prevent such accidents :
however, I shall not, of course, expect you to have
more than one pair of eyes. My tastes are simple.
I read a little, sketch a little, botanise, dabble in
chemistry, am fond of carpentering — boat-building
especially. My very absence of mind makes me
indifferent to surroundings. In short, I am a mild
man.”

Mr. Fogo got off his barrel, went to the window,
sighed softly, and returned. Something in his manner
imposed silence on Caleb.

“ We shall live here alone,” he resumed. “ It is
even possible that, to ensure solitude, I shall rent
the cottage as well, and install you there. Above
all things, remember,” with sudden sternness, “ that
no woman is to come near this house— I shall even
expect you to do your utmost to prevent their
landing on the quay below. That, I think, is all.

48

Troy Town

I now wish you to row down to the station and get
my portmanteau. After that, with this money
procure a couple of hammocks, besides provisions
and whatever will be necessary for the night, not
forgetting soap and candles. To-morrow we will
take in further stock.”

Caleb was about to make some answer when the
garden gate creaked heavily, and Peter Dearlove
appeared in the dusk outside the window; so he
merely took the money, touched his forelock by way
of acknowledging his new employment, and retired.
But it was noticeable that once or twice on his way
to the boat he had to pull himself up and think a bit.
Arrived on the quay, too, he stood for a moment or
so beside the boat in profound meditation.

“ Come, Caleb Trotter ! ” he exclaimed, suddenly
jumping in and seizing the paddles; “this sort o'
thing won’t do, nohow. Here you be paid for lookin'
arter a gentl’m’n as wanders in hes wits, and fust
news es, you be doin’ the same yoursel’. ' Tes terribul
queer, though,” he added, and with that began to row
towards town with an energy that set the boat
quivering.

When he returned, in less than two hours' time,
he found Mr. Fogo with a barrel full of water and the
stump of a decayed broom, washing out the back
kitchen. The Twin had gone.

“ Here we be, sir. Pound o’ candles, pound o’
tea, two loaves o’ bread, knives, forks, two cups,
three eggs — one on 'em smashed, in my trowsy
pocket — saucepan, kettle, tea-pot, an’ a hunk o’
cold beef as salt as Lot's wife’s elbow. That’s the
fust load. There’s more in the boat, but I must ax’ee

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Troy Town

to bear a hand wi’Jthicky portmanty o’ yourn, 'cos
'tes mortal heavy. I see’d Jan Higgs’s wife a-fishin’
about two hundred yards from the quay, on my way
up, an’ warned her to keep her distance. There’s
a well o’ water round at the back, an’ I’ve fetched a
small sack o’ coal, and ef us don’t have a dish o’ tay
ready in a brace o' shakes, then Tom’s killed an’
Mary’s forlorn.”

With the statement of which gloomy alternative
Mr. Caleb Trotter broke into a smile of honest pride.

“ Caleb,” said Mr. Fogo from his hammock in the
back kitchen at about eleven o’clock on the same
night.

“ Aye, aye, sir.”

“ Are you comfortable ? ”

“ Thank’ee, sir, gettin’ on nicely. Just a bit
Man-Fridayish to begin wi’, but as corrat as Crocker’s
mare.”

“ What did you say ? ”

“ Figger o’ speech agen, sir, that’s all. Good-night,
sir.”

“ Good-night, Caleb.”

Mr. Fogo settled himself in his hammock, sighed
for a second time and dropped asleep.

50

CHAPTER VI

HOW CERTAIN TROJANS CLIMBED A WALL OUT OF
curiosity; and of a charwoman that could
GIVE NO INFORMATION

Meanwhile, curiosity in Troy was beating its wings
against the closed doors of “ The Bower.” The early
morning train next day brought three domestics to
supplement the youth in buttons, and supplant the
charwoman. Miss Limpenny, in deshabille (but at a
decent distance from the window), saw them arrive,
and called Lavinia to look, with the result that
within two minutes the sisters had satisfied themselves
as to which was the cook, which the parlour-maid, and
which the kitchen-maid.

Later in the day, a van-load of furniture arrived,
though “The Bower” was already furnished; but,
as Miss Limpenny said, in all these matters of comfort
and refinement, “ there are degrees.” On this occa¬
sion the Admiral, who had been prevailed upon to
leave his bed, executed a manoeuvre the audacity of
which should have commanded success.

He crossed the road, and opened a conversation
with the driver.

But success does not always wait on the brave.
The van-driver happened to have a temper as short
as the Admiral’s, and far less reverence.

“ Good-morning,” said the Admiral, cheerily.

“ Mornin’.”

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Troy Town

“ What’s a-foot to-day ? ”

“ Same as yesterday — twelve inches.”

The Admiral was rather taken aback, but smiled,
nevertheless, and persevered.

“ Ha, ha ! very good. You are a wit, I perceive.”

But the driver’s conversation teemed with the
unexpected.

“ Look ’ere, Ruby-face ! give me any more of
your sass an’ I’ll punch yer ’ed for tuppence.”

This was conclusive. The Admiral struck his
flag, re-crossed the street, went indoors, and had it
out with Mrs. Buzza. Indeed, at the end of half-
an-hour that poor lady’s feelings were so overwrought,
and, in consequence, her sobs so loud, that the
Admiral had perforce to get out his double-bass and
play a selection of martial music to prevent Miss
Limpenny’s hearing them on the other side of the
partition.

All this happened early in the afternoon. Towards
five o’clock Miss Limpenny, who had only left her
post twice, and on each occasion to snatch a hurried
meal, was rewarded for her patience. The front
door of “ The Bower ” opened, and Mr. and Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys appeared, dressed, as Miss Lim¬
penny could see, for a walk.

“ Now, I wonder,” reflected that kind soul, “ which
direction they will take. Personally, of course,
I should prefer them to pass this window; but
I hope I can subdue private inclination to public
spirit, and for Troy’s sake I hope they will visit the
Castle first. The salubrity of the air, as well as the
expansiveness of the view, would be certain to impress
them favourably. Dear, dear ! I wish I could

52

Troy Town

advise them. Should they take the direction of the
town, I know by experience they will be apt to meet
with an effluvium of decaying fish, and I should so
like their stay among us to be begun under pleasant
auspices.”

But almost before Miss Limpenny had concluded
these reflections, the strangers had determined on
the direction. They turned neither towards the
Town nor up the hill towards the Castle and the
harbour’s mouth ; but down the little road which
led to Bower Slip and the Penpoodle Ferryboat.

“ Gracious me ! ” exclaimed Miss Limpenny;
“ they are going to take a boat.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth, when
she was seized with a sudden idea — an idea so alluring,
yet so bold withal, that the blood flew from her cheeks.
She made a step forward, paused, took another step,
and returned to the window. The strangers had
turned down the road and were out of sight.

For a full minute she stood there, tapping her foot.

“ I will,” she said, with sudden determination.
“ I will ! ” On Miss Limpenny’s maiden lip the
words were as solemn as though she spoke them at the
altar. “ I will, — and — I don’t care what happens ! ”

Awful words ! Awful in themselves, more awful
from such lips, but surely most awful as making the
second-step in the moral decadence of Troy !

Yet I would not have my readers too excited.
They were words to shudder at, indeed; but the
immediate consequences were not bloody — they were
only to a limited degree tragic. It must be remem¬
bered that the magnificence of all actions is relative
to the performer, nor would I seek to exalt Miss

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Troy Town

Limpenny to the level of a Semiramis or a Dido ;
only, when I say that she bore a great soul in a little
body, I say no more than that she was a Trojan.

In short, Miss Limpenny did not, as the reader may
have expected, take a boat and pursue after the
strangers. What she did was simply to descend swiftly
to the front hall, take down from its stand an antique,
brass-bound telescope of enormous proportions, and
with it make her way swiftly to the back door.

The back gardens of Alma Villas ran parallel to
each other, and were terminated by a high wall, with
a quay-door apiece, a tall ladder leading from the
door straight down to the water. At the end of the
garden, and built against this wall, in each case a
stone terrace with a flight of steps allowed any one
who chose to climb, and even perform a limited
promenade while enjoying a full view of the harbour
beyond.

It was to this flight of steps that Miss Limpenny,
with a prayer on her lips and the telescope under
her arm, made her way.

Both terrace and steps were rickety to a degree.
To help you to estimate her conduct at its full
temerity I may mention that Miss Limpenny had
never attempted the climb before in her life. But
whatever qualms she may have felt, they did not
appear in her behaviour. Gingerly, but without
hesitation, and clutching the telescope, which im¬
peded her as an ice-axe the rock-climber, she essayed
all the perils of this maiden ascent.

Five minutes’ stiff climbing, as they say in the
Alpine Journal, brought her to a point where she
could take breath and look about her. Despite

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Troy Town

her terror, the excitement and the light breeze now
blowing over the arete of garden wall, had brought a
flush to her cheek. But scarcely had she resumed
and set her foot upon the summit, when the flush
suddenly faded, and left her blanched as snow.

For there, not a foot to her right, and above the
crest of the partition wall, rose another telescope,
the exact counterpart of her own !

The Spectre on the Brocken was nothing to this.

She clutched at the rotten stones and panted for
breath. Slowly, very slowly, the rival telescope was
tilted up against the harbour-wall; very slowly it
rose in air. Then came a pair of hands — of blue
cuffs — and then — the crimson face of Admiral Buzza
soared into view, like the child’s head in Macbeth.

He did not see her yet, being absorbed in adjusting
the telescope. Terror-smitten, too fearful to advance
or retreat, clinging to the telescope with one hand
as a drowning mariner might grasp a spar, and clutch¬
ing with the other at the crumbling wall, Miss
Limpenny stood arrested, wildly staring, scarce
venturing to breathe.

The Admiral’s telescope was tilted into position,
and the Admiral half-turned his head before applying
his eye to the hole.

She could not help it. In spite of all her efforts
to repress it, a little gasping squeal of affright broke
from her. The Admiral, with a start, withdrew his
eye quickly from the glass, and looked over the wall.

“ Damnation ! ” (This was the Admiral, by the
way.)

What happened exactly at this moment will never
be known. Whether a stone underfoot gave way,

55

Troy Town

or whether the Admiral’s voice brought down a
serac of rotten wall, is not clear. There was a rumb¬
ling sound, an oath or two — and then both telescope
and Admiral disappeared, with a crash, from view.

Miss Limpenny screamed, dropped her telescope,
which went rattling down the steps, cowered despe¬
rately against the wall, shut her eyes, screamed again,
trod on a tilting slab, hung for a moment, toppled,
clutched wildly at space, and shot, with a rush and
shower of stones, straight to the very bottom.

Miss Lavinia Limpenny, who, startled by the
screams, had rushed to the window and witnessed
the last stages of the catastrophe, was out in a minute.
Tenderly raising her sobbing sister, she assisted her
back to the house, and attended to the bruises with
a combination of arnica, vinegar, and brown paper.
On the other side of the wall the Admiral lay for some
time and bellowed for help, until his frightened family
bore him in, and attempted to put him to bed.

But mark the heroism of the truly great. In
spite of his late treatment at the hands of his fellow-
citizens — treatment which still rankled — here was
no Coriolanus to depart in a huff to Antium. The
Admiral had a duty to perform, a service due to this
ungrateful Town, and on the subject of going to bed
he was adamant.

“ Cease, Emily. Your tears, your protestations are
in vain. Stop, I tell you ! Get me my uniform.”

Surely some desperate, some decisive step was
contemplated when the Admiral ordered out that
gold-laced coat and cocked hat that once had shone
in the Blue Squadron of Her Majesty’s Navy. What
could this stern magnificence portend ?

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Troy Town

The Admiral had made up his mind. He was
going to interview Mrs. Snell, the charwoman.

It was a pretty fane}'-, and one not without parallel
in the history of famous men, that inspired him at
this crisis to assume his bravest attire. There is to
my mind a flavour in the conceit — a bravado lifting
the action above mere intrepidity into actual great¬
ness. Nor in this little Iliad are there many figures
that I regard with more affection than that of
Admiral Buzza at his garden gate waiting for Mrs.
Snell.

When at length she issued from “ The Bower ”
and came down the road, the effect of the gold lace
was rather striking. She dropped her bundle and her
lower jaw together.

“ Lawks, sir ! how you did frighten me, to be
sure ! I thought it was the devil ! ”

This was hardly what the Admiral had expected.
He beckoned with his forefinger mysteriously.
Mrs. Snell advanced as though not quite sure that
her first fright was unfounded.

“ Mrs. Snell,” inquired the Admiral, in a whisper,
“ what are they like ? ” He pointed melodramatic¬
ally towards “ The Bower ” as he asked the question.

Again the unexpected happened. Mrs. Snell burst
into loud and hysterical sobbing.

” Don’t ’ee, sir ! don’t ’ee ! I can’t abear it. Not
a thing can you do to please ’em, an’ the Honorubble
Frederic a-dammin’ about the ’ouse fit to make your
flesh creep. An’ that though he might ’ave ate his
dinner off the floor, gold studs an’ all, as I told ’un
at last. For ’twasn’t in flesh and blood, sir — not to
be ordered this way an’ that by a whipper-snapper

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Troy Town

whose gran’mother I might 'a been, though he ’as
got three rows o’ shiny buttons on 'is stummick,
which is no cause for a proud carriage toward them
as 'asn’t, nor callin’ 'em slow-coaches and names
which I won’t soil my tongue wi’ — an’ so I said. Aw
dear ! aw dear ! ” And here Mrs. Snell’s passion
again found vent in violent sobs and cries.

“Hush! Confound it! Hush! I tell you. You’ll
have the whole town out.”

“ I beg your pardon, sir — boo-hoo ! — but it isn’t
in natur’, sich wickedness in 'igh places, an’ pore
Maria sick at ’ome wi’ the colic an’ a leak in the roof
you might put your cocked 'at through, an’ very fine
it looks, sir, beggin’ your parding agen, which is
all vexashun o’ sperrit on a shillin’ a day an’ your
vittles, let alone bein’ swore at ’till you dunno
whether you be ’pon your ’ed or your 'eels.”

With this Mrs. Snell picked up her bundle and
marched off down the road. She was quite hopeless,
the Admiral determined, as he watched her retreating
figure and heard her sobs borne back to him on
the evening air. Well, well ! it had been another
reverse — but not a defeat. His face cleared again
as he turned to re-enter the house.

“ Let me see : to-morrow is Sunday. They will
probably be at church. In the afternoon, though
it involve the loss of my usual nap, I will consider.
On Monday I will act.”

Even the strangers themselves, as they walked
up the aisle of St. Symphorian’s Church, Troy, on
the following morning, could not but perceive some¬
thing of importance to be in the wind. That the
church should be full was not unusual, for in those

58

Troy Town

days Sunday Observance was the rule among Trojans.
But on this particular day the Wesleyan and Bible
Christian chapels must have been sadly depleted, so
great was the crush; and, besides, there was the
unwonted magnificence of dress, the stir caused by
the simultaneous turning of some hundred bonnets as
the Goodwyn-Sandys entered, the audible whispering
as they took their seats, the nervousness of the Vicar,
who twice dropped his spectacles over the reading-
desk and once over the pulpit. On this last occasion
one of the glasses was broken, and the sermon in
consequence became, towards the end, a trifle in¬
volved. All this made the service rather hysterical.

Tell me, my Muse, thou who sittest at the tea-table
and rejoicest in the rattling of cups : Who were they
that attended St. Symphorian’s Church on this
Sunday morning ? First, there were the Misses
Limpenny, in black tabbinet dresses and lace shawls ;
a cameo brooch adorned the throat of each, and from
her waist a reticule depended. These first directed
the gold-bound optic glass at the strangers’ pew.
Behind them sat the Doctor and his wife, the one
conspicuous for his black stock, the other for a shawl
of Paisley workmanship. Next, the Harbour-master,
tall Mr. Stripp, with his daughters Tryphena and
Tryphosa ; nor would Mrs. Stripp have been absent
had she not been buried some years before. Yellow¬
haired were both the daughters, and few knew better
the prevailing fashion in dress ; these whispered
concerning Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys' costume. By
them sat Mr. Moggridge, the poet, good at the re¬
sponses, and Sam Buzza, his friend, whom few Trojans
excelled in casting glances at the female congregation.

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Then, most gorgeous and bravest of all, the Admiral :
he wore again his gold-laced coat, but the cocked-hat
rested underneath the seat, and none could fathom
the import of his gaze. By him sat his three daughters,
a-row, in straight-backed dresses of like cut and colour,
and peeped over their prayer-books ; and Mrs. Buzza,
timorous, in bright green satin. But of the throng
of Trojan men and women, not though I had a
hundred mouths, etc., etc.

“ Her dress must have cost nine shillings a yard
if it cost a penny,” said Miss Limpenny when they
were outside in the open air. She looked at the
ground as she said so, for she could forget neither the
Nightcap nor the Telescope.

The Admiral was silent.

“ She is very lovely,” remarked Mrs. Buzza,
“ and did you remark how the Vicar paused in the
Litany when he came to ‘ all the Nobility ’ ? ”

“ I was particularly careful to pray for Lord
Sinkport,” said Calypso, innocently.

Still the Admiral was silent. That afternoon
Mrs. Buzza, stealing softly into the back parlour lest
she should disturb her lord, was amazed, in place of
the usual recumbent form with a bandanna over its
face, to find him sitting up, wide awake, and staring
gloomily.

“ My dear - ” she began in her confusion.

The Admiral turned a Gorgon stare upon her,
but made no answer. Under its petrifying influence
she backed out without another word, to communicate
with the girls upon the portent.

This mood of the Admiral’s lasted all day. Next
morning, at breakfast, he looked up from his bacon,

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and observed, with the air of a man whose mind is
made up —

“ Emily, see that the girls have on their best gowns
by eleven o’clock sharp. I am going to pay a call.”

Consternation sat on every face. Sam Buzza
paused in the act of brealdng an egg.

“ At * The Bower ’ ? ” he asked.

“ At ‘ The Bower.’ ”

Mrs. Buzza clasped her hands nervously. The
girls turned pale.

“ Oh, very well,” said Sam, tapping his egg.
“ I shouldn’t wonder if I turned up while you were
there.”

He was a light-haired, ungainly youth, of about
twenty, with a reputation for singing a comic song. It
was understood that the Admiral designed him for
College and Holy Orders, but meanwhile time was
passing, and Sam sat “ with idle hands at home,” or
more frequently, in the bar of the “ Man-o’-War.”

“ You ! ” exclaimed his father.

" Well, I don’t see what there is in that to be
surprised about,” replied the youth, with an aggrieved
air. “ I met the Honourable Frederic smoking a
cigar out on the Rope-walk last night. His cigars
are very good ; and he asked me to drop in soon and
try another. He isn’t a bit stuck-up.”

The Admiral’s feelings were divided between
annoyance at the easy success of his son, and elation
at finding the stranger so unexpectedly affable. He
rose.

“ Girls, remember to be punctual. I will show
this town of Troy that I am not the man to be
laughed at.”

61

CHAPTER VII

OF A LADY THAT HAD A MUSICAL VOICE, BUT USED
IT TO DECEIVE

Many of the advantages that wait upon the readers
of this history are, I should hope, by this time obvious.
Among them must be reckoned the privilege of
taking precedence of Admiral Buzza — of paying a
visit to “ The Bower ” not only several minutes in
advance of that great man, but moreover on terms
of the utmost intimacy.

Shortly before eleven on Monday morning the
Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Goodwyn-
Sandys was shaving contemplatively. He was a
tall, thin man, with light, closely cropped hair,
a drooping moustache that hid his mouth, and a
nose of the order aquiline, and species “ chiselled.”
For the present the lower half of his face was ob¬
scured with lather. His dress — I put it thus in case
Miss Limpenny should read these lines — was
that usually worn by gentlemen under similar
circumstances.

Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys was just taking his first
stroke with the razor, when the creaking of the
garden gate caused him to glance out of window.
The effect of this was to make him cut his cheek;
whereupon he both bled and swore simultaneously
and profusely.

On the gravel walk stood Admiral Buzza with his
three daughters.

62

I

63

Troy Town

Again the great man was in full dress. Behind
him in Indian file advanced Sophia, Jane, Calypso,
each in a straight frock of vivid yellow surmounted
by a straw hat of such enormous brim as to lend them
a fearful likeness to three gigantic fungi. As far as
the hats allowed one to see from above, each wore
sandal-shoes, and carried a small green parasol,
neatly folded.

At the sight of this regiment of visitors, Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys paused with razor in air and blood
trickling down his chin. The Admiral marched
resolutely up the path and struck three distinct
knocks upon the door.

It was opened by the youth in buttons.

The Admiral produced a sheaf of visiting cards and
handed them to the page, as if inviting him to select
one, note it carefully, and restore it to the pack.

“ Is the Honourable Frederic Goodwyn-Sandys
or the Honourable Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys at home ? ”

Words cannot do justice to the Admiral’s tone.

The regiment was marched into the drawing-room,
where Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys rose to receive them.

She was undeniably beautiful; not young, but
rather in that St. Martin’s Summer when a woman
learns for the first time the value of her charms.
Her hair was of a glossy black, her lips red and full,
her figure and grey morning gown two miracles.
But on her eyes and voice you shall hear Mr. Mog-
gridge, who subsequently wasted a deal of Her
Majesty’s time and his own paper upon this subject.
From a note-book of his, the early pages of which
are constant to a certain Sophia, I select the follow¬
ing—

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“TO GRACIOSA, WALKING AND TALKING.”

Whenas abroad, to greet the morn,

I mark my Graciosa walk,

In homage bends the whisp'ring corn;

Yet, to confess
Its awkwardness,

Must hang its head upon the stalk.

And when she talks, her lips do heal
The wound her lightest glances give.

In pity, then, be harsh and deal
Such wounds, that I
May hourly die

And, by a word reviv6d, live !

All this was very shocking of Mr. Moggridge; for
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was not his Graciosa at all.
But it was what we were fated to come to, in Troy.
And Graciosa’s voice and smile were certainly
inspiring.

Let us return to “ The Bower.” The Admiral
having presented his daughters, and arranged them
in line again, cleared his throat and began —

“ Though aware that, as judged by the standard
of the best society, this visit may be condemned
as premature, I have thought right to stifle such
apprehensions in my anxiety to assure you of a
welcome in Troy — I may say, an open-armed
welcome.”

Here the Admiral actually spread his arms abroad.
His hostess retreated a step.

“ My daughters, — Calypso, I perceive an errant
curl— my daughters, madam, will bear me out when
I say that only excess of feeling prevents their mother
from joining in this — may I call it so ? — this ovation.”

(In point of fact, Mrs. Buzza had been judged
too red in the eyes to accompany the Admiral.)

D 65

Troy Town

“ Ever since I beheld you and your husband —
whom I do not see ” (here the Admiral stared
ferociously under a table), “ but who, I trust, is in
health — for the first time in church yesterday ” —
(Oh, Admiral Buzza !) — “ I have been forcibly
reminded of an expression in one of our British poets,

which runs - Sophia, how the devil does it

run ? ”

Neither of the Misses Buzza had the faintest idea.
Their father's efforts to remember it were interrupted
by Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, who begged them, with
a charming smile, to be seated.

“ My husband,” she said, “ will be down in a
minute or two. It is really most kind of you to
call; for, as strangers, we are naturally anxious to
hear about the place and its people.”

Her voice, which was low and musical, came with
the prettiest trip upon the tongue. There was just
the faintest shade of brogue in it — for instance, she
said “ me husband ” — but I cannot attempt to
reproduce it.

Upon this hinted desire for information, the
Admiral bestowed his cocked-hat under the chair, and
began —

“ Our small town, ma’am, may be viewed in many
aspects — as an emporium of commerce, a holiday
centre, or a health resort. In our trade you would
naturally, with your tastes, find little interest. It is
rather our scenic advantages, our romantic fortresses,
our river (pronounced by many to equal the Rhine),
our mild atmosphere - ”

“ On the contrary, I take the greatest interest in
your trade.”

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Troy Town

The Admiral lifted his brows and smiled, as one
who would imply “You are kind enough to say so,
but really, with your high connections, that can
hardly be seriously believed.” What he said was—

“It is indeed good of you to interest yourself in
our simple tastes. We are (I confess it) to some
degree — ahem ! — mercantile, and as citizens of Troy
esteem it our duty to acquaint ourselves (theoretically)
with the products of other lands. To this end I
have had all my daughters carefully grounded in
the ‘ Child’s Guide to Knowledge.’ Jane, my dear,
what is Gamboge ? ”

“ A vegetable, gummy juice, of a most beautiful
yellow colour, chiefly brought from Gambodia in the
East Indies,” repeated Jane, with a glance at her
gown.

“ You see, ma’am,” explained her father with a
wave of the hand, “it is a form of instruction in
which the rawness of the material is to some extent
veiled by a clothing of picturesque accessories. This
will be even more noticeable in the case of Soy.
Calypso, inform Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys of the humor¬
ous illusion under which our seamen labour with
regard to Soy.”

But at this point the door opened, and Mr. Samuel
Buzza entered, with Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys himself.

The introductions were gone through ; the Admiral
let off another speech of welcome, and plunged with
the Honourable Frederic into a long discussion of
Troy, its scenery and neighbourhood; the three
girls sat bolt upright, each on the edge of her chair ;
and their brother took his hostess’ extended hand
with a bashful grin.

D 2

67

Troy Town

“ Ah, Mr. Buzza, I am interested in you already —
my husband has been telling me how he met you.”

“ Proud to hear it,” muttered Sam.

“ Oh, yes. I hope we shall be great friends. It
is so kind of you all to call.”

Sam asked her not to mention it ; and looked at
his father, whose face was by this time purple with
conversation.

“ I say, ain’t the old boy enjoying himself, though! ”
he remarked in a sudden burst of confidence. “ What
do you think of him ? ”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys smiled sweetly, and
replied that the Admiral was “ so thorough.”

“ Thorough old duffer, you mean. Look at him.
What with his gold spangles and his talking to Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys, he’s as proud as a cock on a wall.”

His hostess laughed. “ You are very frank,”
she said.

“ That’s me all over,” replied Sam, evidently
pleased. ‘‘You see, I ain’t polite — not a ladies’
man in any way.”

“ There I am sure you do yourself injustice.”

“ No, ’pon my word ! I never had any practice.”

“ What, not among all the charming girls I saw
in church yesterday? Oh, Mr. Buzza, you mustn’t
tell me that.” A look from the dark eyes accompanied
this sentence.

Now, very few young men of Sam’s stamp greatly
mind being considered gay Lotharios. So that when
he repeated that “ 'Pon his word he wasn’t,” he also
turned his neck about in his collar for a second or
so, smiled meaningly, and altogether looked rather
pleased than not.

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Troy Town

“ I'm afraid you are a very sad character, Mr.
Buzza.”

" No, really now.”

“ And are deceiving me horribly.”

“ No, really; wouldn't think of it.”

“ Sam 1 ” broke in the Admiral’s voice in tones of
thunder.

“ Yes, sir.”

“ How does Mr. Moggridge describe the ' Man-o’-
War ’ Hotel? ”

“ Says the beer’s falhng off, sir. It did, once upon
a time, taste of the barrel, but now he’ll be hanged
if it tastes of anything at all. It ought - ”

“ Don’t be a fool, sir ! I mean in that poem of
his from ‘ Ivy Leaves : or. Tendrils from Troy.’ ”

“ Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure. Let me see - ”

Before he could recall it, Sophia finished the
quotation, timidly. “ I think, papa, I can remember
it : —

‘ And thou,

Quaint hostel ! 'neath whose mould’ring gable ends
In amber draught I slake my noonday thirst . . .'

Something like that, I think, papa.”

“ Ah, to be sure : ‘ mould’ring gable ends,’ a most
accurate description. It used to belong to— — ” and
the Admiral plunged again into a flood of conversation.

“ You must bring this Mr. Moggridge and introduce
him,” said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys to Sam. “ He is
a Collector of Customs, is he not? Do you think
he would recite any of his verses to me ? ”

“ By the hour. But I shouldn’t advise you to
ask him. It's all about my sister.”

“ Which ? ”

P

69

Troy Town

“ The eldest there — Sophy's her name — and don’t
judge from appearances ; the family diet is not
hardware.”

“ Hush, sir ! you must not be rude. That reminds
me that I ought to go and speak to them.”

“ You won’t get anything out of them. If you
want a subject, though, I’ll give you the straight tip
— lambs. I’ve heard them talk about lambs by the
hour. Say they are nice and soft and woolly :
that’ll draw them out.”

“ You are a great quiz, I perceive.”

“ No, really, now, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.”

“ But, really yes, Mr. Buzza. I shall have to cure
you, I see, before I can trust my husband in your
company.”

She rose and left him to his flutter of pleased
excitement. Oh, Sam ! Sam ! To fall from inno¬
cence was bad enough, but to fall thus easily !

In a few moments and with charming tact, Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys had drawn the Misses Buzza into
a lively conversation ; had told Sophy of some new
songs ; and had even promised them all some hints
on the very latest gowns, before Sam Buzza, weary
of silence, called across the room — -

“ I say, dad, what do you think is the news about
the seedy-looking fellow you treated by mistake to
all that speechifying? ”

The Admiral looked daggers, but Sam was im¬
perturbable.

“ Ho, ho ! I say, Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, the governor
took him for you, and welcomed him to Troy in his best
style — flower in his buttonhole and all — 'twas as good
as a play. Well, the fellow has taken Kit’s House.’

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Troy Town

“ Kit’s House ! ”

“ Yes, and lives there all alone, with Caleb Trotter
for servant. I’d advise you to call, now that you’ve
got your Sunday best on. I’m sure he’d like to
thank you for that speech you made him.”

“ Be quiet, sir ! ”

“ Oh, very well ; only I thought I’d mention it.
I’m afraid I must be going, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.”
Sam held out his hand.

“ Must you ? Good-bye, then,” she said, “ but
remember, you have to come and be taught innocence.”

“ Oh, I’ll remember, never fear,” answered Sam,
and departed.

The Admiral also rose.

“ I trust,” he said, “ that this may be the beginning
of a pleasant intimacy. My wife will be most happy
to give you any information concerning our little
town that I may have omitted. By the way, how
is Lord Sinkport? I really forgot to ask. Quite

well? I am so glad. I was afraid the gout -

Come, Sophy, my dear, we have trespassed long
enough. Good-morning ! ”

He was gone. Scarcely, however, could his host
and hostess exchange glances before he reappeared.

“ Oh, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, that quotation — I
have just remembered it. It was, ‘ Welcome, little
strangers ! ’ The original, I believe, has the singular
— ‘ little stranger ’ — but the slight change makes it
more appropriate. ‘ Welcome, little strangers ! ’
Good-morning ! ”

O Troy, Troy ! Scarcely had the garden gate
creaked again, when Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
looked at each other for a moment, then sank into

71

Troy Town

arm-chairs, and broke into peals of the most un¬
affected laughter.

“ Nellie, hand me a cigar. This beats cock-
fighting.”

“ Whist, me dear ! ” answered the lady, relapsing
into honest brogue, “ but Brady is the bhoy to know
the ropes.”

“ I believe you, Nellie.”

Outside the garden gate the Admiral had fallen
into a brown study.

“ I perceive,” he said, at length, very thoughtfully,
“ that wine and biscuits have gone out of fashion, as
concomitants of a morning call. In some ways I
regret it ; but they are evidently people of extreme
refinement. Sophy, how badly your gown sits.”

“ Why, it was only yesterday, papa, that you
praised it so ! ”

“ Did I? H’m ! Well, well, now for the boat.”

“ The boat, papa ? ”

“ Certainly, Sophy ; we are going to call at Kit’s
House.”

72

CHAPTER VIII

HOW A CREW, THAT WOULD SAIL ON A WASHING-DAY,
WAS SHIPWRECKED : WITH AN ADVERTISEMENT
AGAINST WOMEN

It was a bright April morning, and the Admiral’s
boat, as it swept proudly past the little town, cast
a wealth of bright reflection on the water. In¬
habitants of Troy, sitting at their windows, and
overlooking the harbour, caught sight of the yellow
dresses, the blue coat with its gold lace, and the red
face beneath the cocked-hat, and whispered to each
other that something was in the wind.

Jane and Calypso rowed — for the Trojan maidens
in those days were not above pulling an oar, and did
not mind blisters — while Sophia sat in the bows, her
mushroom hat “ a world too wide ” for the little
green parasol hoisted above it. The Admiral himself
held the tiller ropes, and occasionally gave a word
of command. It was a gracious spectacle.

But as the boat drew clear of the jetties with their
press of vessels, and Kit’s Cottage hove in sight, the
Admiral’s eyes, which were fixed ahead, grew suddenly
very large and round.

“ This is very extraordinary ! ” he muttered,

“ very extraordinary indeed ! ”

“ What is it, papa ? ” and the three Misses Buzza
simultaneously turned their mushroom hats to look.

“ I cannot tell, Sophia; but to me it appears as

73

Troy Town

if these people were — not to put too fine a point upon
it — washing.”

It was quite true. On the little beach, Mr. Fogo,
with his sleeves turned up and a large apron pinned
around him, was standing before a huge tub, in¬
dustriously washing. The tub rested on a couple
of stools. A little to the left, Caleb Trotter, with

his back turned to the river, was wringing the articles
of male costume which his master handed him, and
disposing them about the shingle to dry.

The Admiral had chosen a washing-day for his
first call at Flit’s House.

The approach of the boat was at first unperceived ;
for Caleb, as I said, had his back turned to it, and Mr.
Fogo’s spectacles were bent over his employment.

74

Troy Town

“ Really,” murmured the Admiral, as his eye
travelled over the beach, “ anything more indeli¬
cate - Why, Miss Limpenny might be rowing

this way for anything they know. Hi, sir ! ”

Still grasping the tiller-lines, the Admiral stood
up on the stem seat and shouted.

At the sound Mr. Fogo raised his spectacles and
blandly stared through them at the strangers. Caleb
started, turned suddenly round, and came rushing
dowm the beach, his right hand frantically waving

them back, his left grasping a pair of - (Oh !

Miss Limpenny !)

“ Hi ! you must go back. Go away, I tell ’ee ! ”
he gesticulated.

“ What on - ”

“ Go away ; no females allowed here. Off with
ee this moment ! ”

“ Put down those - s, sir,” yelled the Admiral.

“ Sarve ’ee right : no business to come : 'tes
Bachelor’s Hall, this, an’ us don’t want no woman¬
kind trapesin’ here : so keep your distance. Go
'long ! ” And Caleb began to wave again.

“ Sir,” cried the Admiral, appealing to Mr. Fogo,
“ what is the meaning of this extraordinary
reception ? ”

“ Eh ? What ? ” said that gentleman, who ap¬
parently had fallen into a fit of deep abstraction.
“ I beg your pardon. I did not quite catch - ”

“What is the meaning of all this, sir?” The
Admiral was scarlet with passion.

“ Oh, it’s quite right, I believe — quite right.
Caleb will tell you.” As he gave this astonishing
answer in a far-away tone, Mr. Fogo's spectacles

75

Troy Town

rested on his visitor for a moment with a smile of
deepest benevolence. Then, with a sigh, he resumed
his washing.

The Admiral positively danced with rage.

“ There, what did I tell ’ee ? ” exclaimed Caleb
triumphantly. “ That’s your answer, and now you
can go ’long home. Off with ’ee ! ”

The Admiral’s reply would probably have contained
some strong words. It was arrested by a catastrophe.

During this altercation the tide had been rising,
and carried the boat gently up towards the little
beach. As the Admiral opened his mouth to retort,
the boat’s nose jarred upon a sunken heap of pebbles.
The shock was slight, but enough to upset his equili¬
brium. Without any warning, the Admiral’s heels
shot upwards, and the great man himself, with a
wild clutch at vacancy, soused backwards — cocked-
hat and all — into the water.

The three Misses Buzza with one accord clasped
their hands and uttered dismal shrieks; the three
mushroom hats shook with terror. Mr. Fogo looked
up from his washing.

“ Papa ! oh, save him — save our dear Papa ! ”

There was no danger. Presently a crimson face
rose over the boat’s stem, blowing like a grampus.
A pair of dripping epaulets followed; and then the
Admiral stood up, knee-deep in water, and swore
and spat alternately.

How different from that glittering hero, at sight
of whom, not an hour before, the Trojan dames at
their lattices had stopped their needlework to whisper !
Down his nose and chin ran a pitiable flood; his
scanty locks, before so wiry and obstinate, lay close
against his ears ; his gorgeous uniform, tarnished with

76

Troy Town

slime, hung in folds, and from each fold poured a
separate cascade ; the whole man had become
suddenly shrunken.

Speechless with rage, the little man clambered over
the stem and shook Iris fist at the wondering spectacles
of Mr. Fogo.

“ You shall repent this, sir ! You shall - Jane,

push the boat off at once ! ”

But even the dignity of a fine exit was denied the
Admiral. The boat was by this time firmly aground,
and he was forced to stand, forming large pools upon
the stem-board, while the grinning Caleb pushed
her off. And still Mr. Fogo looked mildly on, with
his hands in the wash-tub.

“ Do you hear me, sir? You shall repent this ! ”
raved the Admiral.

“ Now, don’t ’ee go upsettin’ yourself again, ’cos
wance es enough. An’ ’t ’ain’t no good to be vexed
wi’ Maaster, ’cos he don’t mind ’ee. 'Tes like
Smoothey’s weddin’ — all o' one side. Next time,
I hopes you’ll hsten when you’m spoken to.”

And with a chuckle, Caleb sent the boat spinning
into deep water. Scarce daring to look at their
father, the Misses Buzza plunged their oars into the
brine, and the Admiral, still shaking his fist, was borne
slowly out of sight. At last even his language failed
upon the breeze.

Caleb quietly returned to his work.

“ Thicky Adm’ral,” he observed, contemplatively,
after a silence of a minute or so, “ puts me in mind
o’ Humphrey Hambly’s ducks, as is said to look
larger than they be.”

He paused in the act of wringing a shirt, to look at
Mr. Fogo.

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Troy Town

The next instant the shirt was lying on the shingle,
and Caleb had sprung upon his master, taken him by
the shoulders, and was shaking him with might and
main.

“Come, wake up! Do ’ee hear? What be
glazin’ at ? ”

“ Eh ? Dear me ! ” stammered Mr. Fogo, as well
as he might for the shaking. “ What’s all this ? ”

“ Axin’ your pardon, sir,” explained Caleb, continu¬
ing the treatment, “ but ’tes all for your good, like
ringin’ a pig. You’m a-wroolgatherin’ ; wake up ! ”

Mr. Fogo came to himself, and sat down upon a
log of timber to rearrange his thoughts and his
spectacles. Caleb stood over him and sternly watched
his recovery.

“You are quite right, Caleb : my thoughts were
wandering. Your treatment is a trifle rough, but
honest. Are those extraordinary people gone ? ”

“ Iss, sir; here they were, but gone— like Jemmy
Rule’s larks.”

“ I beg your pardon? ”

“ Figger o’ speech, sir. They be gone right enough
- — Adm’ral Buzza in full fig, and a row o’ darters in
jallishy buff. I sent ’em ’bout their bus’ness. Took
’ee here, sir : ef you’ll promise to sit quiet and keep
your wits at home, I’ll run down to town for a
happord o’ tar.”

“ Tar, Caleb? ”

“ Iss, sir, tar ! ” and with this Caleb turned on his
heel and strode away across the shingle. In a
moment or two he had untied his boat from the little
quay, and was pulling down towards Troy Town.

When he returned, it was with a huge board, a
pot of tar, and a brush. He looked anxiously about

78

Troy Town

the beach, but Mr. Fogo was nowhere to be seen.
“ Drownded hissel’,” was Caleb’s first thought, but
his ear caught the sound of hammering up at the
house. He walked indoors to see that all was right.

“ How be feelin’ ? ” he asked, putting his head in
at the dining-room door.

Mr. Fogo laid down the mallet with which he had
been nailing a loose plank in the flooring, and looked
up.

“ All right, Caleb, thank you.”

“ I was afear’d you might be none compass agen.”

“What? ”

“ None compass — Greek for ‘ mazed.’ Good-bye
for the present, sir.”

Caleb borrowed a hammer, a nail or two, and a
spade, and descended again to the beach. Here he
chose a spot carefully, and began to dig a large hole
in the shingle. This finished, he turned to the board,
and spent some time with the brush in his hand and
his head on one side, thinking. Then he began to
paint vigorously.

Half-an-hour later, a tall post with a board on top
stood on the beach at Kit’s House. On the board,
in letters six inches long, was tarred the following
inscription : —

TAKE NOTICE.

ALL WIMMEN

FOUND TRAPESING ON THIS
BEECH WILL BE DEALT
WITH ACCORDING
TO THE LAW

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Troy Town

Above this notice jauntily rested the Admiral’s
cocked-hat, which had drifted ashore further up on
the shingle — an awful witness to the earnestness of
the threat and the vanity of human greatness.

Caleb stood in front of his handiwork and gazed at

it with honest pride for some minutes ; then went into
the house to fetch Mr. Fogo forth to look. He was
absent for some minutes. When he returned with his
master, their eyes were greeted with a curious sight.

On the spit of shingle, and staring open-mouthed
at the notice, stood the Twins, their honest faces
expressing the extreme of perplexity. A few j/ards

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off the shore, in their boat, waited Tamsin, and leant
quietly on her paddles.

At the sight of her, Caleb’s face fell a full inch;
bul he led his master down and planted him resolutely
in front of the board. Mr. Fogo stared helplessly
from it to the Twins.

“ Momin’, sir,” said Peter, after a long pause.
His face wore a deepened colour, and he smiled
awkwardly.

“ Good-morning,” replied Mr. Fogo.

“ A fine momin’,” repeated Peter, with a long gaze
at the board, “ an’ no mistake.”

There was another long interval, during which
everybody stared hard at the Notice.

“ ’Tes a powerful fine mornin’,” Peter re-asserted
very slowly, “ ef so be as your station in life es in
noways connected with turmuts. Ef ’tes the less us
says about the mornin’ the better.” With this
observation Peter looked hard at Mr. Fogo, as if the
ball of conversation now lay in that gentleman’s hands.

“ What do 'ee think o’ this 'ere Notice ? ” broke
in Caleb.

Paul twitched his yellow bandanna and smiled
evasively.

“ ’Tes very pretty writin’, sir, sure-ly,” he replied,
addressing Mr. Fogo. “ Nice thick down-strokes,
an’ all as it shou’d be.”

“ Uncommon fash’nubble et makes the beach look,
sir, a’ready,” added Peter.

Some mental reservation seemed to lurk behind
this criticism. Mr. Fogo looked dubiously from the
Twins to Caleb, who stood with his eyes fixed on
his handiwork.

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Troy Town

“ Axin’ your pard’n, sir, an’ makin’ so free as to
mention et,” began Peter at length, pulling off bis
hat and twirling the brim between his fingers, “ tut
us was a bit taken aback, not understandin’ as
fash’nubbleness was to begin so smart ; or us wou’dn’t
have introoded — spesh’ly Tamsin. Tamsin was
thinkin’ this mornin’ as a pound of fresh butter
might be acceptable to the gentl’m’n down at Kit’s
House, wi’ ha'f a dozen fresh eggs or so, ’cos her
Minorcy hen began to lay agen last week, an’ the
spickaty Hamburg as allays lays double yolks ; an’
Paul an’ me agreed you wudn’ be above acceptin’
a little present o’ this natur’, not seemin’ proud, an’
Tamsin shou’d bring et hersel’, the eggs bein’ hers
in a manner o’ speakin’. But us was not wishful
to introod, sir, an’ iver since us seed the board here,
her’s been keepin’ her distance in the boat yonder;
on’y us stepped ashore to larn ef there was anything
us cou’d do to make things ship-shape an’ fitty for ’ee.”

At the end of this long address, Peter, whose
mahogany face was several shades deeper, pulled
up, and resumed his hat.

“ Ship-shape an’ fitty — not wishful for to introod.
That’s so, Peter,” echoed his brother.

Mr. Fogo looked at the pair helplessly, and again
at Caleb, whose eyes were obstinately averted.

“ Caleb ! ”

“ Sir.”

“ Ask Miss Dearlove if she would mind stepping
ashore.”

With a sudden brightening of face, Caleb called
her name. Tamsin looked up.

“ Ef 'ee please, you’m to come ashore, to wance ! ”

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The girl rowed a couple of strokes, grounded the
boat, and stepped lightly ashore with a big basket
and an unembarrassed glance at the Notice.

“ There’s a few young potatoes at the bottom,”
she said, with a curtsey, as she handed her gift to
Mr. Fogo. “ They’re the earliest and best anywhere
in these parts. Can you cook potatoes ? ” she asked,
suddenly turning to Caleb. Beneath her sun-
bonnet her pretty cheek was flushed, and her chin
thrust forward with just a shadow of defiance.

“ Iss, to be sure,” grinned Caleb. “ Why, us
does our own washin’.”

Tamsin’s eyes travelled without bashfulness over
the array upon the beach.

“ Pretty washing, I expect ! ” She walked up
and took some of the clothes into her hand. “ Look
here — not half-wrung — and some fallen in the mud
and dirtied worse than ever.”

With fine contempt she moved among the clothes,
wrung them, spread them out again, and even
returned with some to the wash-tub. Like four
whipped schoolboys the males looked on as she
tucked up the sleeves of her neat print gown.

“ Soap, too, left to float in the wash-tub, and — salt
water I declare ! Caleb, empty this and get some soft
water from the old butt by the back door. Oh, you
poor, helpless baby ! ”

Mr. Fogo, though the words were not spoken to
him, winced and turned to stare abstractedly at the
river.

* * * * * *

“ Sir,” said Caleb from his hammock that night,
“ cudn’ 'ee put in a coddysel ? ”

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“ A codicil ? ”

“ Iss, just to say, ‘ No wimmen allowed but Tamsin
Dearlove — us don’t mind she.’ Wudn’ that do,
sir? ”

“ I’m afraid not, Caleb. By-the-bye, how does
your Notice run ? ‘ All women found trespassing

wih be - ’ ”

“ Dealt wi’ ’cordin’ to the law, sir.”

“ Dear me, Caleb ! ” murmured Mr. Fogo, “ but
I trust that under no circumstances should I deal
with a woman otherwise than according to the law.”

84

CHAPTER IX

OF A TOWN THAT WOULD LAUGH AT THE GREAT : AND
HOW A DULL COMPANY WAS CURED BY AN IRISH
SONG

We left the Misses Buzza engaged in rowing their
papa homewards. The Three Queens as they steered
King Arthur to Avilion can have been no sadder
pageant. It is true the Misses Buzza grieved for no
Excalibur, but the Admiral had lost his cocked-hat.

Picture to yourself that procession : the journey
past the jetties; the faces that grinned down from
overhanging hulls, or looked out hurriedly at case¬
ments and grew pale; the blue-jerseyed Trojan
lounging on the quay, and pausing in his whistle to
stare; the Trojan maidens gazing, with arrested
needle ; the shipwrights dropping mallet and tar-pot ;
the ferrymen resting on their oars ; the makers of
ship’s biscuit rushing out, with aprons flying, to see
the sight; the butcher, the baker, the candle-stick
maker — each and all agog. Then imagine the
Olympian mirth that ran along the waterside when
Troy saw the joke, and, hand on hip, laughed with all
its lungs.

But even this was not the worst : no, nor the crowd
of urchins that followed from the landing-stage and
cheered at intervals. It was when Admiral Buzza
looked up and spied the face of Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys at an upper window of “ The Bower,” that the
cup of his humiliation indeed brimmed over.

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Mrs. Buzza, “ tittivating ” at the mirror, heard the
stir, and, presentient of evil, rushed down-stairs.
She saw her lord restored to her, dear but damp.
Yet she “ nor swooned, nor uttered cry : ” she
simply sat violently and suddenly down upon the
hall-chair, and piteously stared.

“ Emily, get up ! ”

She did so.

“ You are wet, my love,” she ventured timorously.

“ Wet ! Woman, is this the time for airy persi¬
flage ? ”

“ My love,” replied Mrs. Buzza, meekly, " nothing
was further from my thoughts.”

The Admiral glared upon her for a moment, but
the retort died upon his lips. He flung his hands out
with an appealing gesture and something like a
sob.

“ Emily,” he cried, hoarsely, “ Troy has laughed at
me again. Put me to bed.”

O forgiving heart of woman ! In a moment her
arms were about him, and her tears minghng with the
general dampness of the Admiral’s costume. Then,
having wept her fill, she smiled a little, dried her eyes,
and put the Admiral to bed.

Out of doors Troy still laughed at the mishap.
The whole story was soon related (with infinite
humour) by the unfilial Sam. Down at the “ Man-
o’-War,” in the bar-parlour, for seven days it formed
the sole topic of discussion ; and Mr. Moggridge (who
ought to have respected Sophia’s father) even wrote
a humorous ode upon the theme, beginning —

‘‘Ye gods and little fishes . . .”
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and full of the quaintest conceits. For seven days,
from dawn to nightfall, the river off Kit’s House was
crowded with boat-loads of curious gazers, and the
Steam-Tug Company (Limited) neglected its serious
business to run special excursions to the scene of the
catastrophe

The Trojan maidens especially would stare at the
Notice by the half-hour (that being the time allowed
by the Steam-Tug Company), and hope, with much
blushing and giggling, to catch a glimpse of Mr. Fogo.
But the hermit remained steadily indoors.

Meanwhile the Admiral sulked in bed, and nursed
his ill-humour. On Tuesday he was strangely
softened and quiet ; but

On Wednesday he recovered, and began to bully
his wife as fiercely as ever.

On Thursday he broke the bell-rope again, and the
servant gave warning.

On Friday he threatened to make his will, and
refused his food.

On Saturday he was still fasting.

On Sunday he ate voraciously, drank four glasses
of grog, and threw the wash-hand basin out of
window.

On Monday Mrs. Buzza revolted, and took herself
off, with the girls, to Miss Limpenny’s party.

Yes. Miss Limpenny had mustered courage to
put on her best brooch and call at “ The Bower ” with
Lavinia. Nor did her daring end here; it took the
form of a little three-cornered note on that very
evening, and on the next morning Mr. and Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys accepted.

“ Have great pleasure in accepting,” read Miss

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Limpenny to her sister. “ The very words. I’m
sure it’s most affable.”

“We must have cheesecakes — the famous cheese¬
cakes — of course,” reflected Miss Lavinia, “ and a
dish of trifle, and jellies, and — oh, Priscilla ! ”

“ What, Lavinia? ”

“ Do you think a Tipsy Cake would be unbe¬
coming? ”

Miss Limpenny knit her brows over this bold
proposal.

“ I disapprove of the name,” she said. “ It has
always seemed to me a trifle — ahem ! — ‘ fast,’ if I
may call it so. Still, we need not mention its name
at supper, and the taste is undeniably grateful. But,
Lavinia, I was thinking of a more important matter.
Who are to be asked ? ”

“ Why not everybody, Priscilla dear? ”

“ The Simpsons, for instance ? It is true his father
was a respectable solicitor, and even Mayor of Devon-
port I have heard, but Mr. Simpson’s taste in badinage
is such as I cannot always approve. It is very well
in Troy here, where everybody knows them, but the
Goodwyn-Sandys are certain to be most particular,
and, Lavinia, that crimson gown of hers ! ”

“ It is bright,” assented Miss Lavinia.

“ And the Saunders ! What a pity the girls cannot
be invited without the boys.”

“ The boys have always come before, Priscilla.”

Miss Limpenny groaned. “ To meet an Honour¬
able, Lavinia ! ”

The leaven was working.

However, on the following Monday everybody was
assembled in the little drawing-room. The Vicar

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was there in evening dress ; the doctor and his wife ;
Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson in the crimson gown ;
the Saunders boys in carpet slippers (at sight of which
Miss Limpenny went hot and cold by turns) ; the
Misses Buzza in book-muslin, with ultramarine
sashes and bronze shoes laced sandal-wise ; their
mother in green satin and deadly terror lest the
Admiral’s voice should penetrate the party-wall.
Mr. Moggridge wras frowning gloomily in a corner at
some humorous story of Sam Buzza’s telling. In
short, with the exception of their Admiral, all Trojan
society had gathered to do honour to the new-comers.

Miss Limpenny, nervously toying with her best
brooch, rose in a flutter as the door opened and
admitted them.

“ So afraid we are late ! but the clocks at ‘ The
Bower ’ have not yet recovered from their journey.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys gazed calmly about her.
There was a rustle throughout the room ; two pink
spots appeared on Miss Limpenny’ s cheeks; she
stumbled in her words of welcome. The Vicar
frowned and looked puzzled.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys wore a low-necked gown !

It was a shock; but it passed. She was wonder¬
fully pretty, all admitted, in her gown of a rich amber
satin draped with delicate folds of black lace ; around
her wdiite throat a diamond necklace glistened. How
well I can remember her as she stood there toying
with a button of her glove ! And how mean and
dowdy we all looked beside this glittering vision !

The Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Good¬
wyn-Sandys meanwhile stared at us all calmly but
firmly through his eye-glass. I saw young Horatio

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Saunders meet that gaze and sink into his carpet
slippers. I saw Mr. Moggridge frown terribly, and
cross his arms. Sam Buzza came forward —

" Ah, how d’ye do ? How d'ye do, Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys? Looking round for the governor? He’s
been in bed for a week.”

I think we all envied Samuel Buzza at this moment.
“Ah, nothing serious, I hope?” drawled Mr.
Goodwyn-Sandys.

“ Serious, ha, ha ! Haven’t you heard - ”

“ Sam, dear ! ” expostulated Mrs. Buzza.

“ All right, mother. He can’t hear,” and Sam
plunged into the story.

The ice was broken. In a few moments a whist
party was made up to include the Honourable Frederic,
and Miss Limpenny breathed more freely. Mr.
Moggridge was led up by Sam, and introduced.

“ Ah, indeed ! Mr. Moggridge, I have been so
longing to know you.”

Sam looked a trifle vexed. The poet simpered that
he was happy.

“ Of course I have been reading ‘ Ivy Leaves.’ So
mournful I thought them, yet somehow so attractive.
How did you write it all ? ”

Mr. Moggridge confessed amiably that he “ didn’t
quite know.”

“ Let me see; those lines beginning —

‘ O give me wings to — to - ’

I forget for the moment how it goes on.”

“ ‘ To fly away,’ ” suggested the bard.

“Ah, exactly; ‘to fly away.’ So simple — just
what one would wish wings for, you know. It struck

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me very much when I read it. When did you think
of it, Mr. Moggridge ? ”

The poet blushed and began to look uncomfortable.

“ Ah ! you are reticent. Excuse me; I ought not
to probe a poet’s soul. Still, I should like to be able
to tell my friends - ”

“ The — the fact is,” stammered Mr. Moggridge,
“ I — I thought of them — in — my bath.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys leaned back and laughed — a
pretty rippling laugh that shook the diamonds upon
her throat. Sam guffawed, and by this action sprang
that little rift between the friends that widened before
long into a gulf.

“ I shall ask you to copy them into my Album. I
always victimise a lion when I meet one.”

This was said with a glance full of compensation.
Mr. Moggridge tried to look very leonine indeed.
Across the room another pair of eyes gently re¬
proached him. Never before had he tarried so long
from Sophia’s side. Poor little heart ! beating so
painfully beneath your dowdy muslin bodice. It was
early yet for you to ache.

“ Oh, ah, Dick Cheddar — knew him well,” came in
the sonorous tones of the Honourable Frederic from
the whist-table. “ So you were at College with him
— first cousin to Lord Stilton— get the title if he only
outlives the old man — good fellow, Dick — but
drinks.”

“ Dear me,” said the Vicar; “ I am sorry to hear
that. He was wild at Christchurch, but nothing out
of the way. Why, I remember at the Aylesbury
Grinds - ”

Miss Limpenny, who did not know an Aylesbury

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Grind from a Bampton Lecture, yet detected an
unfamiliar ring in the Vicar’s voice.

“ He fought a welsher,” pursued the Vicar, “ just
before riding in a race. ‘ Rollingstone,’ his horse was,
and Cheddar’s eyes closed before the second fence.
‘ Tom,’ he called to me — I was on a mare called
Barmaid - ”

I ask you to guess the amazement that fell among
us. He — our Vicar — riding a mare called Barmaid !
Miss Limpenny cast her eyes up to meet the descent
of the thunderbolt.

“ Lord Ballarat was riding too,” the Vicar went
on, “ and young Tom Beauchamp, son of the
Bishop - ”

“ Died of D.T. out at Malta with the Ninety-
ninth,” interpolated the Honourable Frederic.

“ So I heard, poor fellow. Three-bottle Beauchamp
we called him. I’ve put him to bed many a time
when - ”

It was too much.

“ In the Great Exhibition of 1851,” began Mss
Priscilla severely.

But at this moment a dreadful rumbling shook the
room. The chandeliers rattled, the egg-shell china
danced upon the what-not, and a jarring sensation
suddenly ran up the spine of every person in the
company.

“ It’s an earthquake ! ” shouted the Honourable
Frederic, starting up with an oath.

Miss Limpenny thought an earthquake nothing
less than might be expected after such language.
Louder and still louder grew the rumbling, until the
very walls shook. Everybody turned to a ghastly

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white. The Vicar’s face bore eloquent witness to the
reproach of his conscience.

“ I think it must be thunder,” he gasped.

“ Or a landslip,” suggested Sam Buzza.

" Or a paroxysm of Nature,” said Mr. Moggridge
(though nobody knew what he meant).

“ Or the end of the world,” hazarded Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys.

“ I beg your pardon,” interposed Mrs. Buzza
timidly, “ but I think it may be my husband.”

“ Is your husband a volcano, madam? ” snapped
Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, rather sharply.

Mrs. Buzza might have answered “ Yes,” with some
colour of truth ; but she merely said, “ I think it must
be his double-bass. My husband is apt in hours of
depression to seek the consolation of that instrument.”

“ But, my dear madam, what is the tune? ”

“ I think,” she faltered, “ I am not sure, but I
rather think, it is the ‘ Dead March ’ in Saul.”

There was no doubt of it. The notes by this time
vibrated piteously through the party-wall, and with
their awful solemnity triumphed over all conversation.
Tones became hushed, as though in the presence of
death; and the Vicar, in his desperate attempts to
talk, found his voice chained without mercy to the
slow foot of the dirge. He tried to laugh.

“ Really, this is too absurd — ha ! ha ! Tum-tum-
tibly-tum.” The effort ended in ghastly failure.
Thrum-thrum-tiddy-tkrum went the Admiral’s instru¬
ment.

Miss Limpenny grew desperate. “ Sophia,” she
pleaded, “ pray sing us one of your cheerful ballads.”

Sophia looked at Mr. Moggridge. He had always

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turned over the pages for her so devotedly. Surely
he would make some sign now. Alas ! all his eyes
were for Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.

“ I will try,” she assented with something danger¬
ously like a sob.

She stepped to the “ Collard ” at a pace remorse¬
lessly timed to the “ Dead March,” and chose her
ballad — a trifle of Mr. Moggridge’s composition. It
>vould reproach him more sharply than words, she
thought. A cloud of angry tears blurred her sight as
she struck the tinkling prelude.

“ A month ago Ly sander prayed
To Jove, to Cupid, and to Venus - ”

Thrum-thrum-thrum went the double bass next door.
Mr. Moggridge looked up. How thin and reedy
Sophia’s voice sounded to-night ! He had never
thought so before.

“ That he might die, if he betrayed
A single vow that passed between us."

“ Sweetly touching ! ” murmured Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys.

Sophia pursued —

" O careless gods, to hear so ill.

And cheat the maid on you relying ;

For false Lysander’s thriving still,

And ’tis Corinna lies a-dying."

“ Is that all ? ” asked Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys as
Sophia with flushed cheeks left the piano.

“ That is all — a little effort not worth - ”

“ Oh, it is yours ! But,” with a sweet smile, “ I
ought to have guessed. You must write a song for
me one of these days.”

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“ Do you sing ? ” cried the delighted Mr. Moggridge.

Sam, who had been waiting for a chance to speak,
shouted across the room — “I say, Miss Limpenny,
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys will sing if you ask her.”

After very httle sohcitation, and with none of the
coyness common to amateurs, she seated herself at
the instrument, quietly pulled off her gloves, and
dashed without more ado into a rollicking Irish ditty.

" Be aisy an’ list to a chune
That’s sung uv bowld Tim, the dragoon;

Sure, 'twas he’d niver miss
To be stalin' a kiss —

Or a brace — by the light uv the moon,

Aroon,

Wid a wink at the man in the moon ! ”

“ Really ! ” murmured Miss Limpenny. The keys
of the decorous “ Collard ” clashed as they had never
clashed before. The guests, at first shocked and
startled, began to be carried away with the reckless
swing of the music. The Vicar stared for a moment,
and then began gradually to nod his head to the
measure.

“ You must sing the last line in chorus, please,”
said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys from the piano —

“ Wid a wink at the man in the moon ! ”

It was sung timidly at first. Nothing daunted,
the performer plunged into the next verse —

“ Rest his sowl in the arms uv owld Nick 1

For he’s gone from the land uv the quick ;

But he’s still makin’ luv
To the leddies above,

An* be jabbers ! he’ll tache ’em the thrick,

Avick,

Niver fear but he’ll tache ’em the thrick ! ”

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There was no doubt this time. By the spirit of
her mad singing, by some demon that rode upon her
full and hquid voice, the whole company seemed
possessed. Miss Limpenny looked furtively towards
the Vicar. He was actually joining in the chorus !
And what a chorus ! She put her mittened palms to
her ears, such a shout it was that went up.

" 'Tis by Tim the dear saints ’ll set sthore,

And ’ull thrate him to whiskey galore;

For they’ve only to sip
But the tip uv his lip,

An’ bedad 1 they’ll be askin’ for more,

Asthore,

By the powers ! they’ll be shoutin’ ‘ Ancore ’ ! ”

It was no longer an assembly of dull and decent
citizens ; it was a room full of lunatics yelling the
burden of this frantic Irish song. Laughingly, Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys rested her finger on the keys and
looked around. These stolid Trojans had caught
fire. There was the little Doctor purple all above his
stock; there was the Vicar with inflated cheeks and
a hag-ridden stare ; there was Mr. Moggridge snapping
his fingers and almost capering ; there was Miss Lim¬
penny with her under-jaw dropped and her eyes
agape. They were charmed, bewitched, crazy.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys saw this, and broke into a
silvery laugh. The infection spread. In an instant
the whole room burst into a peal, a roar. They
laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks ; they
held their sides and laughed again. She had them
at her will.

There was no more wonder after this. At supper
the talk was furious and incessant; Miss Lavinia
spoke of a “tipsy-cake,” and never blushed; the

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Vicar took wine with everybody, and told more stories
of Three-bottle Beauchamp; even Sophia laughed
with the rest, although her heart was aching — for
still her poet neglected her and hung with her brother
on the lips of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys. I saw him
bring the poor girl’s cloak in the hall afterwards and
receive the most piteous of glances. I doubt if he
noticed it.

Outside, the Admiral’s double-bass was still droning
the “ Dead March ” to Miss Limpenny’s laurestinus
grove. It was the requiem of our decorum. Long
after I was in bed that night I heard the voice of Mr.
Moggridge trolling down the street —

“ An’ be jabbers ! he’ll tache ’em the thrick ! ”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys had “ taught us the trick,”
indeed.

E

97

CHAPTER X

OF ONE EXCURSION AND MANY ALARUMS

" Caleb ! ” said Mr. Fogo on the morning after
Miss Limpenny’s party.

“ Aye, aye, sir ! ” Caleb paused in his carpentering
to look up.

" It is a lovely morning ; I think I will take my
easel and go for a walk. You are sure that the crowds
have gone at last ? ”

“ All gone, sir. Paice and quiet at last — as Bill
said when he was left a widow. Do ’ee want me to go
’long wi’ 'ee, sir ? ”

“ No, thank you, Caleb. I shall go along the hills
on this side of the river.”

" You’d best let me come, sir, or you’ll be wool-
gatherin’ and wand’rin’ about till goodness knows
what time o’ night.”

“ I shall be back by four o’clock.”

“ Stop a minnit, sir; I have et. I’ll jest put that
alarmin’ clock o' yourn in your tail-pocket an’ set et
to ha’f-arter-dree, an' that’ll put you in mind when
'tes time to come horn’. 'Tes a wonnerful in-jine,
this 'ere clock,” reflected Caleb as he carefully set
the alarum, “ an’ chuck-full o’ sense, like Malachi’s
cheeld. Lor’, what a tiling es Science, as Jenifer said
when her seed the tellygrarf-clerk in platey buttons
an’ red facin’s to his breeches. Up the path, sir, an’
keep to the left. Good-bye, sir ! Now, I’d gie
summat,” soliloquised Caleb as he watched his master

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ascend the hill, “ to be sure of seein’ him back safe
an’ sound afore nightfall. Aw dear ! ’tes a terrable
’sponsible post, bein’ teetotum to a babby ! ”

With this he walked back to the house, but more
than once halted on his way to ponder and shake his
head ominously.

Mr. Fogo meanwhile, with easel and umbrella on
his arm, climbed the hill slowly and with frequent
pauses to turn and admire the landscape. It was the
freshest of spring mornings : the short turf was
beaded with dew, the furze-bushes on either hand
festooned with gossamer and strung with mimic
diamonds. As he looked harbourwards, the radiance
of sky mingling with the glitter of water dazzled and
bewildered his sight : below, and at the foot of the
steep woods opposite, the river lay cool and shadowy,
or vanished for a space beneath a cliff, where the red
plough-land broke abruptly away with no more
warning than a crazy hurdle. Distinct above the
dreamy hum of the little town, the ear caught the
rattle of anchor-chains, the cries of an outward-bound
crew at the windlass, the clanking of trucks beside the
jetties ; the creaking of oars in the thole-pins of a tiny
boat below ascended musically ; the very air was quick
with all sounds and suggestions of spring, and of man
going forth to his labour; the youthfulness of the
morning ran in Mr. Fogo’s veins, and lent a buoyancy
to his step.

By this time the town was lost to view ; next, the
bend of Kit’s House vanished, and now the broad
flood spread in a silver lake full ahead. On the ridge
the pure air was simply intoxicating after the languor
of the valley. Mr. Fogo began to skip, to snap his
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fingers, to tilt at the gossamer with his umbrella, and
once even halted to laugh hilariously at nothing. An
old horse grazing on an isolated patch of turf looked
up in mild surprise ; Mr. Fogo blushed behind his
spectacles and hurried on.

He had gone some distance when a granite roller
lying on the ploughed slope beneath a clump of bushes
invited him to rest. Mr. Fogo accepted the invitation,
and seated himself to contemplate the scene. The
bush at his back was comfortable, and by degrees the
bright intoxication of his senses settled to a drowsy
content. He pulled out his pipe and fit it. Through
the curls of blue smoke he watched the glitter on the
water below, the prismatic dazzle of the clods where
their glossy surface caught the sun, the lazy flap-flap
of a heron crossing the valley, and he heard along the
uplands the voice (sweetest of rural sounds, and, alas !
now obsolete) of a farm-boy chanting to his team,
“ Brisk and Speedwell, Goodluck and Lively ” — and
so sank by degrees into a soothing sleep.

When he awoke and looked lazily upwards, at
first his eyes encountered gloom. “ Have I been
sleeping all day ? ” was his first thought, not without
alarm. But under the darkness a bright ray was
stealing. Mr. Fogo put up Iris hand and encountered
his umbrella, carefully spread over his face for shade.

This was mysterious ; he could swear the umbrella
was folded and lying at his side when he dropped
asleep. “ It must be Caleb,” he thought, and stared
around. No Caleb was in sight, but he noticed that
the sun was dropping towards the west, and noticed
also, not fifty yards to the left, and quietly cropping
a tuft of bushes, a red bull.

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Now Mr. Fogo had an extreme horror of bulls,
especially red bulls, and this one was not merely red,
but looked savage, to boot. Mr. Fogo peered again
round the corner of his umbrella. The brute luckily
had not spied him, but neither did it seem in any
hurry to move. For twenty minutes Mr. Fogo waited
behind his shelter, and still the bull went on
cropping.

It was already late, and the brute stood full in the
homeward path to Kit’s House. It was only possible
to make a circuit around the ridge, as the cliff’s edge
cut off a detour on the other side. Weary of waiting,
Mr. Fogo cautiously rose, pushed his easel under the
bushes, and began to creep up towards the ridge,
holding his umbrella in front of him as a screen. This
was rather after the fashion of the ostrich, which, to
avoid being seen, buries its head in the sand ; nor was
it likely that the beast, if irritated at sight of a man,
would acquiesce in the phenomenon of an umbrella
at large, and strolling on its own responsibility. But
as yet the bull’s back was towards it.

Stealthily Mr. Fogo crept round. He had placed
about seventy yards between him and the animal,
and had almost gained the summit when a dismal
accident befell.

“ Cl’k — Whir-r-r-r-r 00-00-00 ! ”

It was the alarum in his tail-pocket. The bull
looked up, gazed wildly at the umbrella, snorted,
lashed out with his tail, and started in pursuit.
Quick as thought, Mr. Fogo dropped his screen, and,
with a startled glance around, dashed at full speed for
the ridge, the infernal machine still dinning behind
him.

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Luckily, the bull’s onset was directed at the um¬
brella. There was a thundering of hoofs, a dull roar,
and the poor man, as he gained the summit and cast
a frantic look behind, saw a vision of jagged silk and
flying ribs. With a groan he tore forwards.

There was a hedge about fifty yards away, and for
this he made with panting sides and tottering knees.
If he could only stop that alarum ! But the relentless
noise continued, and now he could hear the bull in
fresh pursuit. However, the umbrella had diverted
the attack. After a few seconds of agony Mr. Fogo
gained the hedge, tore up it, turned, saw the brute
appear above the ridge with a wreck of silk and steel
upon his horns, and with a sob of thankfulness
dropped over into the next field.

But alas ! in doing so Mr. Fogo performed the
common feat of leaping out of the frying-pan into the
fire. For it happened that on the other side a tramp
was engaged in his legitimate occupation of sleeping
under a hedge, and on his extended body our hero
rudely descended.

“ Hi ! ” said the tramp, “ where be you a-comin’
to? ”

Mr. Fogo picked himself up and felt for his spec¬
tacles ; they had tumbled off in his flight, and without
them his face presented a curiously naked appearance.
The alarum in his pocket had stopped suddenly with
the jerk of his descent.

“ I beg your pardon,” he mildly apologised, “ but
a bull in the next field - ”

“ That’s no cause for selectin’ a gentl’m’n’s stomach
to tumble ’pon, growled the tramp.

" I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” repeated Mr. Fogo ;

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“ you may be sure that had time for selection been
allowed me - ”

“ Look ’ere,” said the tramp with sudden ferocity,
“ will you fight ? ”

Mr. Fogo retreated a step.

“ Really - ”

“Come, look sharp! You won’t? Then I de¬
mands ’arf-a-crown.”

With this the ruffian began to tuck up his ragged
cuffs, and was grimly advancing. Mr. Fogo leapt
back another pace.

“ Cl’k — Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo ! ”

This time the alarum was his salvation. The tramp
pulled up, gave a hasty terrified stare, and with a cry
of “ The Devil ! ” made off across the field as fast as

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his legs would carry him. Overcome with the emo¬
tions of the last few minutes Mr. Fogo sat suddenly
down, and the alarum ceased.

When he recovered he found himself in an awkward
predicament. He knew of but one way homewards,
and that was guarded by the bull; moreover, if he
attempted to find another road he was hampered by
the loss of his spectacles, without which he could not
see a yard before his nose.

However, anything was better than facing the bull
again ; so he arose, picked the brambles out of his
clothing, and started cautiously across the field.

As luck would have it he found a gate ; but another
field followed, and a third, into which he had to climb
by the hedge. And here he suffered from a tendency
known to all mountaineers who have lost their way
in a mist ; unconsciously he began to trend away
towards the left, and as this led him further and fur¬
ther from home, his plight became every moment
more desperate.

At last he struck into a narrow lane, just as the sun
sank. He halted for a moment to consider his
direction.

" Pat— pat — pat.”

He looked up. A little girl in an immense sun-
bonnet was toddling up the lane towards him. She
swung a satchel in her left hand, and at sight of the
stranger paused with her unoccupied forefinger in
mouth.

Mr. Fogo advanced straight up to her, stooped with
his hands on his knees, and peered into her face. This
behaviour, though necessitated by his shortness of
sight, worked the most paralysing effect on the child.

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“ Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit’s
House? ”

There was no answer. Mr. Fogo peered more
closely.

“ Little girl, can you tell me the way to Kit’s
House ? ”

Still there was no answer.

“ Little girl - ”

“ CL’k — whir-r-r-r-roo-oo ! ”

The effect of the alarum was instantaneous.

“ Boo-hoo ! ” yelled the little girl, and broke into a
paroxysm of weeping.

“ Little girl—”

“ Boo-hoo ! Take me home. I want mammy ! ”

“ Dear me,” cried Mr. Fogo wildly, “ this is the
most appalling situation in which I have ever been
placed.” He thought of running away, but his
humanity forbade it. At length the alarum ran
down ; but the child continued to scream —

“ I want mammy ! Take me home ! ”

“ Hush ! hush ! She shall go to mammy — ickle
tootsey shall go to mammy. Did-ums want-ums
mammy? ” shouted Mr. Fogo, with an idiotic effort
to soothe.

But it was useless. The screams merely increased
in volume. Mr. Fogo, leaning against the hedge,
mopped his brow and looked helplessly around.

“ What on earth is to be done ? ”

There was a sudden sound of light footsteps, and
then, to his immense relief, Tamsin Dearlove stood
before him. She looked as fresh and neat as ever
and carried a small basket on her arm.

“ Whatever is the matter? Why, 'tis little Susie

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Clemow ! What’s the matter, Susie ? ” She set
down her basket and ran to the child, who immediately
ceased to yell.

“ There now, that’s better. Did the big strange
gentleman try to frighten her? Poor little maid ! ”

“ I assure you,” said Mr. Fogo, “ I tried to do
nothing of the kind.”

Tamsin paid no attention.

“ There now, we’re as good as gold again, and can
run along home. Give me a kiss first, that’s a dear.”

The little maid, still sobbing fitfully, gave the kiss,
picked up her satchel, and toddled off, leaving Tamsin
and Mr. Fogo face to face.

“Why did you frighten her?” the girl asked
severely. There was an angry flush on her cheek.

“ I did not intentionally. It was the alarum.

First of all I was chased by a bull, and then - ”

Mr. Fogo told his story incoherently. The angry
red left Tamsin’s cheek, and a look of disdain suc¬
ceeded.

“ And you,” she said very slowly, when he had
finished, “ think you are able to despise woman¬
kind.”

It was Mr. Fogo’s turn to grow red.

“ And to put up a board,” she continued, “ with
that silly Notice upon it— you and that great baby
Caleb Trotter — setting ail women at naught, when
you never ought to be beyond tether of their apron-
strings. Why, only this morning you’d have caught
a sun-stroke if I hadn’t spread your umbrella over
you.”

“ Did you do that? ”

“ And who else do you suppose ? A man, perhaps ?

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Why, there isn’t a man in the world would have had
the sense — ’less it was Peter or Paul,” she added, with
a sudden softening of voice, “ and they’re women in
everything but strength. And now,” she went on,
“ as I am going that way, I suppose you’ll want me
to see you home. Will you walk in front or behind,
for doubtless you’re above walking beside a woman ? ”

“ I think you are treating me very hardly.”

“ Maybe I am, and maybe I meant to. Maybe
you didn’t know that that Notice of yours might hurt
people’s feelings. Don’t think I mean mine,” she
explained quickly and defiantly, “ but Peter’s and
Paul’s.”

There was a pause as they walked along together.

“ The board shall come down,” said he; “ and now
may I carry your basket ? ”

” My basket ? Do you think I’d trust a man to
carry eggs ? ” She laughed, but with a trace of
forgiveness.

He did not answer, but seemed to have fallen into
a fit of troubled contemplation. They walked on in
silence.

Presently she halted.

“ I doubt you’ve had trouble in your time, and I’ve
hurt your feelings and spoken as I oughtn’t to have
spoken to my betters ; but I’ve seen that Peter and
Paul were hurt in mind, and that made me say more
than I meant. Yonder’s your way down to Kit’s
House. Good-night, sir.”

Mr. Fogo would have held out his hand, but she
was gone quickly down the road. He stood for a
minute looking after her; then turned and walked
quickly down the path to Kit’s House.

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Caleb met him at the door.

" So you’m back, an’ I hopes you enj’yed your walk,
as Sal said when her man corned home from France.
I was just a-comin’ to luk for ’ee. Where’s your easy-
all and your umbrella? ”

Mr. Fogo told his story.

“ H’m ! ” said Caleb, “ an’ Tamsin saw ’ee home ? ”

“Yes; and by the way, Caleb, you may as well
take down that notice to-morrow.”

" H’m ! ” muttered Caleb again. “ You’re quite
sure thicky coddysel won’t do ? ”

“ Quite.”

“ Very well, sir,” said Caleb, and began to busy
himself with the evening meal. But he looked curi¬
ously at his master more than once during the
evening. Mr. Fogo spent most of his time in a brown
study, smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire.
Caleb also smoked (it was one of his privileges), and
finally, with an anxious glance, and two or three hard
puffs at his pipe, broke the silence —

“ The bull es a useful animal, an’ when dead
supplies us wi’ rump-steaks an’ shoe-horns, as the
Sunday-school book says : but for all that there’s
suthin’ lackin’ to a bull. ’Tain’t conviction : you
niver seed a bull yet as wasn’ chuck-full o’ conviction,
an’ didn’ act up to hes rights, such as they be. An’
’tain’t consistency : you drill a notion into a bull’s
head an’ fix et, an’ he’ll save et up, may be for six
year, an’ then rap et out on ’ee till you’m fairly sick
for your own gad-about ways. ’Tes logic he wants, I
reckon— jest logic. A bull, sir, es no more’n a mass o’
blind onreas’ning prejudice from horn to tail. Take
hes sense o’ colour : he can’t abide red. Ef you press

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the matter, there ain’t no more reas’n for this than
that hes father afore him cudn’ abide et; but how
does he act ? ‘ Hulloa ! ’ says he, ‘ there’s a party in

red, an’ I don’t care a tinker’s cuss whether ’tes a
mail-cart or a milisha-man : I’m bound to stop this
’ere taste for red ef I dies nex’ minnit.’ And at et he
goes accordin’. Ef he seed the Scarlet 'Woman about
in his part o’ the country, he’d lay by an’ h’ist her,
an’ you’d say, ‘ Well done ! ’ an’ I don’t say you’d be
wrong. But jest you stop an’ ax hes motives, an’
you’ll find ’taint religion. Lor’ bless ’ee, sir, a bull’s
got no more use for religion than a toad for side-
pockets. ’Tes obstinacy — that’s what ’tes. You
tells me a jackass es obstinate. Well, an’ that’s true
in a way ; and so’s a hog. Ef you wants quiet con¬
trariness, a jackass or a hog’ll both sit out a bull ;
an’ tho’ you may cuss the pair till you sweats like a
fuz’-bush on a dewy mornin’, ’tes like heavin’ bricks
into a bott’mless pit. But a bull ups an’ lets ’ee
know ; there aint no loiterin’ round an’ arrangin’ yer
subjec’ under heads when he’s about. You don’t get
no pulpit ; an’, what’s more, you don’t stop to touch
your hat when you makes your congees. ’Tes just
pull hot-foot, and thank the Lord for hedges; ’cos
he’s so full o’ his own notions as a Temp’rance speaker,
an’ bound to convence ’ee, ef he rams daylight in ’ee
to do et. That’s a bull. An’ here’s anuther p’int;
he lays head to ground when hes beliefs be crossed, an’
you may so well whissle as try the power o’ the human
eye — talkin’ o’ which puts me i’ mind o’ some curious
fac’s as happ’n’d up to Penhellick wan time, along o’
this same power o’ the human eye. Maybe you’d like
to hear the yam.”

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“ Eh ? ” Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstrac¬
tion. " Yes, certainly, I should like to hear it.”

Caleb knocked his pipe meditatively against the
bars of the grate; filled it again and lit it; took an
energetic pull or two, and then, after another hard
look at his master across the clouds of smoke, began
without more ado.

no

CHAPTER XI

OF A WESLEYAN MINISTER THAT WOULD IMPROVE
UPON NATURE, AND THEREBY TRAINED A ROOK
TO GOOD PRINCIPLES

“ Well, sir, et all happen’d when I lived up to
Penhellick, an’ worked long wi’ Varmer Mennear.
Ould Lawyer Mennear, as he was a-nicknamed — a
little cribbage-faced man, wi’ a dandy-go-russet
wig, an’ on’y wan eye : leastways, he hadn’ but
wan fust along when I knowed ’n. That’s what the
yarn’s about, tho’ ; so us ’ll go slow, ef you plaise,
an’ hush a bit, as Mary Beswetherick said to th’
ingine-driver.

“ Now, Lawyer Mennear was a circuit-preacher,
o’ the Wesleyan Methody persuash’n, tho’ he’d a-got
to cross-pupposes wi’ the rest o’ the brethren an’
runned a sect all to hissel’, which he called th’ United
Tree Church o’ 'Rig’nal Seceders. They was called
’Rig’nal Seceders for short, an’ th’ ould man had a
toler’ble dacent followin’, bein’ a fust-class mover
o’ souls an’ powerful hot agen th’ unregenrit, which
didn’ prevent hes bein’ a miserable ould varmint,
an’ so deep as Garrick in hes ord’nary dealin’s. Aw,
he was a reg’lar split-fig, an’ ’ud go where the devil
can’t, an’ that’s atween the oak an’ the rind.”

“ I see,” said Mr. Logo.

“ Iss, sir. Why, the very fust day I tuk sarvice
— I was a tiny tacker then — he says to me, ‘ Caleb,
my boy, you’m lookin’ all skin an’ bones for the

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present, but there’s no knawin’ what Penhellick beef
and pudden may do for 'ee yet, ef 'tes eaten wi’ a
thankful heart. Hows’ever, 'bout the work. I
wants you to take the dree jackasses an’ go to beach
for ore-weed, an’ as I likes to gie a good boy like you
a vew privileges, you be busy an’ carry so many
seams 1 as you can, an’ I’ll gie drappence for ivery
seam more’n twenty.’

“ Well, sir, I worked like a Trojan, an’ ha’f killed
they jackasses; an’ I tell ’ee ’twas busy all to carry
dree-an’ -twenty seam. In the eveling, arter work, I
went to Lawyer Mennear an’ axed 'n ’bout the nine-
pence — I niver got ninepence so hard in all my bom
days. When he paid me, he looked so sly, an’ says
he —

“ * You’m a nation clever boy, you be, an’ I doan’t
gridge ’ee the money. But now I sees what you can
do, of cou’se I shall 'spect 'ee to carry dree-an’-
twenty seam ivery day, reg’lar : for the workman,’
says he, ‘ es worthy of hes hire.’

Darn et ! ' thought I to mysel’, ‘ this won’t
do ; ’ an’ I niver seed azackly the beef an’ pudden
th’ ould man talked about. Hows'ever, I stayed wi’
the psalmas-’untin’ ould cadger, tho’ et made me
’most 'mazed at times to hear the way he’d carry
on down at the Meetin’ House ’bout the sen o’ greed
an’ the like, an’ all the time lookin’ round to see who
owed ’n a happeny. ‘ My brethren,’ he’d call out,

‘ my pore senful flock, ef you clings to your flocks an’
herds, an’ tents an’ dyed apparel, like onto Korah
shall you be, an’ like onto Dathan an’ Abiram, so sure
as I be sole agent for Carnaby’s Bone Manure in this
'ere destrict.’ 'Tes true, sir. An’ then he’d rap out
1 A cart-load.

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the hemn, ‘ Common metre, my brethren, an’ Sister
Tresiider ’ll gie the pitch —

‘ Whativer, Lord, us lends to Thee
Repaid a thousan’fold ’ll be,

Then gladly will us gie to Thee.’

An’ I reckon that was ’bout the size o’t. Aw, he
was an inointed ould rascal.

“ All the same, Lawyer Mennear was reckon’d a
powerful wrastler en the sperrit by the rest o’ the
Church-Membership ; on’y there was wan thing as
went agen 'un, an’ that was he hadn’ but wan eye;
tho’ Maria Chirgwin, as was known to have had
experience, an’ was brought under conviction by th’
ould man, told me that et made ’n luk the more
terrifyin’ - ”

“ Like Polyphemus,” put in Mr. Fogo.

“ Polly which ? ”

" Never mind.”

“ I disknowledged the surname. But niver mind,
as you say, sir ; feelin’s es feelin’s, an’ th’ ould Men-
near’s wan eye went mortal agen ’un. Not but what
he wudn’ turn et to account now an’ then. ‘ Tummas
doubted,’ he said wan day, ‘ an’ how was he con-
venced ? Why, by oracular demonstrashun - ’ ”

“ Ocular, Caleb.”

“ Right you are, sir, an’ thankye for the correc-
shun, as the boy said to the pupil-teacher ; ‘ by
oc-u-lar demonstrashun,’ says he. ‘ P’raps you
dunno what ocular demonstrashun es, my brethren.
Well, I’ll tell ’ee. That’s a wall, ain’t et ? An’ I’m
a preacher, arn’t I ? An’ you be worms, bain’t
’ee ? Why, I can see that much tho’ I han't but wan
eye. An’ that’s ocular demonstrashun.’

“ But, as I was sayin’, wan eye es a wisht business,

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howsomever you may turn et up’ards an’ call et mur
thorn i’ the flesh, an’ the likes; an’ more’n a few o’
the ’Rig’nal Seceders fell away from th’ ould nan’s
Meetin’ House, and became backsliders dro’ fear o’
being overlooked an’ ill- wished, so they said. Ireckon
'twas all quignogs, but et did luk plaguey like th’
evil eye, an’ that there’s no denyin’.

“ Well, sir, matters went on i’ this way for a brave
time, an’ the ’tendance got less, till Lawyer Mennear
wos fairly at hes wits’ end. He talked a’ weak-kneed
brethren, an’ ‘ puttin’ your han’s to the plough,’ an’
dreshed the pilm 1 out o’ cush’n afore ’un, an’ kicked
up a purty dido, till you cou’d hear the randivoose
o’ Sunday mornin’s ’way over t’other side o’ Came
hill ; but ’twarn’t no manner o’ good. An’ as for the
childer at the Sunday-school — th’ ould rapscallion
laid powerful store by hes Sunday-school — ’twas
‘ bear a hand ivery wan ’ to get mun to face that eye :
an’ you mou’t clane their faces an’ grease their hair
as you wou’d, the mothers told me, an’ see mun off
’pon the road to Meetin’ House ; but turn your back,
an’ they’d be mitchin’ 2 in a brace o’ shakes an’ 'way
to go for Coombe beach, an’ playin’ hidey-peep in
their clane pinnyfores ’mong the rocks.

“ Aw, ’twas shee-vo ! ’mong the Church Members,
an’ no mistake ; an’ how ’twud ha’ come round,
there’s no telling, ef et hadn’ a-been for what Lawyer
Mennear called a vouchsafement o’ marcy. An’
the way thicky vouchsafement corned about was
this :

“ Th’ ould man was up to Plymouth wan day ’bout
some shares he’d a-tuk in a tradin’ schooner; for
he’d a finger in most pies. Nuthin’ i’ the way o’

1 Dust. 2 Playing truant.

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busness corned amiss to’n. Like Nicholas Kemp,
he’d occashun for all.”

** Who was Nicholas Kemp? ” inquired Mr. Fogo.

“ On’y a figger o’ speech, sir. Well, ould Mennear
had a-done bus’ness, an’ was strollin’ up Union Street
’long wi’ his missus — Aunt Deb’rah Mennear, as
her name was — a fine, bowerly woman, but a bit
ha’f-baked in her wits ; put in wi’ the bread, as they
say, an’ tuk out wi’ the cakes — when he fetches up
’pon a sudden afore a shop-windey. There was
crutches inside, an’ j ury-legs fash’ned out o’ cork, an’
plaster heads drawn out in maps wd’ county-towns
marked in, an’ bumps to show why different folks
broke diff’rent Commandments, an’ rows o' teeth
a-grizzlin’, an’ blue spectacles, an’ splints enough to
camp-shed a thirty-acred field, an’ ear-trumpets an’
malignant growths - ”

“ Malignant growths? ”

“ Iss, sir — in speerits o’ wine. But what tuk th’
ould man’s notice were a trayful o’ glass eyes put out
for sale i’ the windey, an’ lookin’ so nat’ral as life —
blue eyes, brown eyes, eyes as black as a sloan,1 an’
others, they told me, as went diff'rent colours ’cordin'
as you looked at mun. Anyway, ould Mennear pulled
up short an’ clinched Deb’rah by the elbow.

“ ‘ Like onto the fishpools in Heshbon ! ’ says he ;
an’ wi’ that he bounses into the shop.

" ‘ How much for them eyes ? ’ he axes.

“ ‘ Do 'ee want the lot ? says the chap in the shop,
a reg’lar little dandy-sprat, an’ so pert as a jay-pie
in June. * ’Cos us makes a reducshun on takin’ a
quantity,' says he.

“ ‘ Wan ’ll do for me,' says Lawyer Mennear.

1 Sloe.

il t

Troy Town

They be two pund-ten apiece,’ says the whipper-
snapper, ‘ an’ ten shillin’ for fixin’.’

“ Well, sir, you may fancy th’ ould man’s face
when he heerd the price. He sot down, like as ef
the wind was tuk out of hes sails, an’ says he —

“ ‘ I’ll gie thirty shillin

“ The shopman wudn’ ha’ this ; so at et they went,
higglin’ an’ hagglin’ ontil ’twas agreed at las’ he shud
ha’ the eye for two pund-five, fixin’s included. ’Twas
like drawin’ blood from a stone ; but th’ ould man had
done a stroke of bus’ness that day, so in th’ end he pulls
out hes bag an’ tells out the money ’pon the counter.

“ ‘ An’ now,’ says the whipper-snapper, ‘ which ’ll
’ee ha’ ? Grey’s the colour, I reckons, ef you wants a
match.’

“ ‘ Drat the colour ! ’ says ould Mennear, ‘ I’ve
a-paid my price, an’ I’ll ha’ the biggest, ef et be
bassomy-red.’ 1

“ Well, the shopman laffs, o’ cou’se, but lets ’n
ha’ hes own way; an’ th’ ould man picked out the
biggest — bright blue et was, suthin’ the colour of a
hedgy-sparrer’s egg, an’ shiny-clear like a glass-alley.
They was a brave long while gettin’ et fixed, ’cos
'twas so big. Ef he’d a-been content an’ took a
smaller wan, he’d ha’ done better : but he was bound
to be over-reachin’, was th' ould varmint, an’ so he
corned to grief, as you shall hear. There’s many
folks i’ this world be knowin’ as Kate Mullet.”

“ I never heard of that lady,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ There’s not much to know, sir, ’cept that they
say her was hanged for a fool. Hows’ever, to shorten
the yarn, ould Mennear got hes eye fixed at las’, an’
went home wi’ Aunt Deb’rah so pleased as Punch.

1 Heather-coloured.

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“ Nex’ Sunday ’twas Hamlet’s Ghost 'mong the
’Rig’nal Seceders, an’ no mistake ! Some o’ the
female members fell to screamin' so soon as iver they
clapped eyes on th’ ould man, an’ Sister Trudgeon
was tuk wi’ a fit, an’ had to be carr’d out wi’ two
deacons to her head an’ two to her heels, an’ kickin’
so that Deacon Hoskins cudn’ master hes vittles for
up a fortni’t, he was that hurted internally. An’
the wust was, that what wi’ the rumpus an’ her singin’
out ‘ Pillaloo ! ’ an’ how the devil was amongst mun,
havin’ great wrath, the Lawyer’s sarmon about a
‘ wecked an’ ’dulterous generation seekin’ arter a
sign ’ was clean sp’iled. Arter the sarvice, too, there
was a deal of discussin’. Some said 'twas senful to
interfere wi’ Natur’ i’ that way, an’ wrong in a pur-
fessin’ Christian like Mennear; an’ all agreed the
new eye gave ’n a janjansy 1 kind o’ look, ‘ as ef,’
said Deacon Hoskins, ‘ he was blinchin’ 2 fifty ways
for Grace.’ There was some talk, too, about axin’
the old man to resign; but nuthin’ came o’t. An’
arter a time, when the congregashun got a bit recon¬
ciled, folks began to allow the new eye improved
Mennear’s pulpit manner, an' guessed that, arter all,
et mou’t be a powerful engine for effectual salvashun.
Et had a dead, appearance, ef you understands me,
sir, and yet a sort o’ gashly wakefulness, like a thing
onhuman, ’cos o’ cou’se et niver winked; th’ ould
man cudn’ ha’ winked, not for a fi’-pund note, for
the thing was that big et strained his eyelid like a
drum. 'Sides which, et had a way o’ keepin’ order
’mong the worshippers that you cudn' believe onless
you seed it ; for, let alone the colour o’t, you niver

1 Two-faced. Qy. from Janus ?

2 Prying, looking about.

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knawed whether ’twas fixed on you or ten pews off,
but somehow felt dead-sure ’twas you all the time,
an’ cudn’ ha’ moved, not if you had a blue-tailed fly
inside the back o’ your collar.

“ Well, sir, nat’rally the Meetin’ House began to
fill agen, at fust out o’ curiosity, but by-’m-by the
list of Admitted Members began to fill up. Folk
cudn’ hold out when th’ ould Lawyer ramped on
’bout t’ other world an’ there was that eye fixin’
mun an’ lookin’ as though et had been there. I
needn’ tell 'ee th’ ould man wore et ivery Sunday :
’deed, he wore et most days, but tuk et out o’ nights,
I’ve heerd, for ’twudn’ shut when he slep’, but used
to scare ould Deb’rah Mennear fairly out of her sken
o’ moonshiny nights, when the light corned in 'pon et.
An’ even when her got 'n to lave et off, her used allays
to put a tay-cup ’pon top o’t afore closin’ an eye.

“So et went on, sir, till wan Sunday mornin ,
when the Lawyer was fairly warmin’ to hes work
over the weckedness o’ backsliders an’ the wrath to
come, he whacks the cush’n more’n ord’nary vi’lent,
an’ I reckon that made the eye work loose. Anyway,
out et drops, and clatters down along the floor o’
the Meetin’ House.

“Now Deacon Hoskins i’ them days had charge
o’ the Sunday-school boys. He was a short-sighted
man, the Deacon, tho’ that were hes misfortun’ ; but
he had faults as well, an’ wan o’ these was a powerful
knack o’ droppin’ off to sleep durin’ sarmon-time.
Hows'ever, he managed very tidily, for he knawed
he was bound to wake hissel’ so soon as he began
to snore, an’ then he’d start up sudden an’ fetch the
nighest boy a rousin’ whistcuff ’pon the side o’ the
head to cover the noise he’d made, an’ cry out, ‘ I’ve

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a-caught ’ee agen, ha’ I ? I’ll tache ’ee to interrup’
the word o’ Grace wi’ your gammut 1 an’ may-
games ! ’ — an’ he’d look round like as ef he’d say,
‘ Sorry to interrup’, brethren, but desceplin’ es
desceplin’ ! ’ Many’s the time I’ve a-seed ’n do this, an’
you may take my word, sir, 'twas so good as a play i

“ Now this morning Deacon Hoskins was takin’
forty winks as ushul, when the clatter made by th’
ould Mennear’s eye makes ’n set up, wide-awake an’
starin’. This time, j edgin’ by the noise, he tuk a
consait that the boys had been a-playin’ marbles
sure ’nuff; so he takes two at haphazard, knacks
their heads togither, an’ then looks about. Fust
thing he sees es th’ eye lying out ’pon the aisle an’
lookin’ for all the world like a big shiny glass-alley.

“ I told ’ee, sir, the Deacon were short o’ sight.
Fie hadn’ a doubt by this time the boys had been
foolin’ about wi’ marbles, so he reaches out, grabs
the eye, an’ slips et into hes trowsy-pocket ; an’ then
he takes a glance round, so much as to say, ‘ I reckon
the owner of this 'ere glass-alley ’ll ha’ to wait afore
he sees 'n agen.'

“ In cou’se, the rest o’ the brethren knawed what
had happened, an’ wan or two fell to titterin’ a bit ;
but altogether there was a kind o’ breathlessness for
a moment or so, an’ then th’ ould Mennear sings out
from the pulpit- —

“ ‘ Brother Hoskins, I’ll trouble you to kindly pass
up that eye.’

“ Deacon Hoskins stared a bit, but was too short
o’ sight to see what the matter was.

“ ‘ Eh ? ’ says he.

“ ‘ Hand up that eye, ef you plaise.’

1 Nonsense.

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“ ‘ What eye ? ’ says the Deacon.

“ Th' ould Mennear stamped and seemed fit to
swear.

“ ‘ Why, my eye, you nation bufflehead ! ’ The
Lawyer didn’t mind much what he said when hes
back was up ; an’ arter all 'twere, ir kind o’ way,
'scuseable.

“ ‘ Look ’ere,’ answers back the Deacon, ‘ ef you’ve
drapped your eye, an’ be that fond o’ the cheap-jack
thing that you can’t get on wi’out et, send round
Deacon Spettigue to hunt, an’ not a man as can’t
see sax inches afore hes nose. Et’s out o’ reas’n,’
he said, ' an’ you ort to know better.’

“ In cou’se, tho’, when he found out hes mistake
an' lugged the thing out o’ hes pocket, there was
Bedlam let loose, for up five minnits, ivery mother’s
son chitterin’ an’ laffin, an’ the Deacon lookin’ like
a pig in a fit. He desarted the Seceders that very
week, an’ niver darken’d the Meetin’ House door agen
to the day o’ hes death.

“ Well, the fuss got calmed over, but somehow the
Lawyer cudn’ niver trust hes eye as he used to. He
said ’twam’t fully dependable; an’, sure ’nuff, within
a month et slipped out agen, and th’ ould man was
forced to go to Plymouth an’ buy another, a bit
smaller. So he lost by his mean ways arter all. He
tried to trade back th’ ould eye, but the shopman
wudn’ ; so he brought et home in hes pocket, and
laid it by in the chaney cupboard, ’long wi’ the cloam,1
an’ there et bided.

“ An’ now, sir, I’m a-comin’ to the most curiosest
part o’ my yarn : an’ you can believe or no, as you

1 Crockery. Drinking in Troy is euphemistically called
" emptyin’ cloam."

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thinks fit, but I’ll tell ’ee jest what I knows an’ no
more.

“ Some two year arter, Lawyer Mennear tuk a
corner out o’ the twenty-acred field — a little patch
to the right o’ the gate as you went in — an' planted
et wi’ green peas. Six rows he planted, an’ beautiful
peas, too, on’y the birds wudn’ let mun ha’ a chance.
Well, at las’ th’ ould man got mad, an’ stuck me ’pon
top o’ the hedge wi’ a clapper to scare the birds
away; ’sides which, to make sure, he rigged up a
scarecrow. ’Twas a lovely scarecrow : two cross¬
sticks an’ the varmer’s own coat — ’twas the coat
he’d a-got married in forty year afore. He gied et
to me when the scarecrow had done wi’ et, an’ the
tails were so long as an Act o’ Parlyment. 'Top o’
this was a whackin’ big turmut by way o’ face, wi’ a
red scarf round the neck — from Aunt Deb’rah’s
petticoat — an’ wan o’ th’ ould man’s left-off wigs
'pon the crown, an’ a high-poll hat, a bit rusted
wi’ Sunday obsarvance, to finish. Did I say ‘ to
finish ’ ?

“ Well, then, I said wrong. ’Cos jest when I’d
a-rigged 'n up, down comes Aunt Deb’rah an’ cries
out, ‘ Aw, Caleb, here be suthin’ more ! Do ’ee fix
et in, that’s a dear; an’ ef et don’t scare away any
bird as iver flied, then,’ says she, ‘ I’m wuss nor any
bird ’ ; an’ wi’ that she opens her hand an’ gies me
the Lawyer’s cast-off eye.

“ So I outs wi’ my pocket-knife an’ digs a hole in
the turmat face, an’ inside o’ ten minnits there was
the scarecrow finished off. Aw, sir, ’twas a beautiful
scarecrow; an’ when us stuck et up, I tell ’ee that
from the kitchen windeys, three hundred yards away,
et seemed like life itsel’.

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“ Well, sir, fust day 'twas stuck there, I sot beside
the hedge, round the comer, watchin’, and while I
sot two queerish things happen’d — tho' the fust
warn’t so queer nuther, but jest human natur’, when
you comes to consider et. 'Twas this. I hadn’ been
there an hour afore two score an dree wimmen — I
knows, 'cos I kep’ count — came, wan arter anuther,
down to the gate to make sheep’s eyes at that scare¬
crow, havin’ heerd as there was a well-dressed lad
down among the peas. An’ that’s true, ef I swears et
'pon the Book.”

“ Ah ! ” was Mr. Fogo’s only comment.

“ Iss, sir ; an’ well you may say so. But the nex
thing I noticed was a sight queerer. In fac’ I dunno
but et’s the queerest go I iver heard tell ’bout. But
you may jedge for yoursel’.

“ I’d been a-settin’ there for the best part o’ two
hour, an’ keepin’ count o’ how wan bird arter another
corned up for they peas, an’ turned tail at sight o’ the
scarecrow. For et didn’ seem like no ord’nary scare¬
crow, sir, wi’ that eye a-glintin’ in the sunshine. I
cou’d see ’t from where I sot — an’ so the birds thought.
Well, wan arter another, they steps up an’ flies off as
ef hurried for time, when by-’m-by ’long comes an
ould rook.

“ He jest sa’ntered up quite leisurable, did this
rook, an’ lit ’pon a pea-stick to take a blinch round.
Nat’rally he cotches sight o’ the scarecrow, an’
nat’rally I looked for ’n to turn tail, like the rest.
But no, sir.

“ Where he was, the scarecrow’s back was t’ wards
’un, an’ th’ ould bird jest looks et up an’ down, an’
this way an’ that, an’ cocks his head ’pon wan side,
an’ looks agen an’ chuckles, for all the world as ef to

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say, ‘ Et looks like a man, an’ ’tis fixed like a man ;
but dash my wig ! ef ’tain’t a scarecrow an’ no more,
I ain’t fit to live in an age o’ imitashuns.'

“ Well, he jest sot an’ sot, an’ arter a while he began
for to taste the flavour o’ the joke, an’ then he lay
back an’ laffed, did that bird, till he was fit to sweat,
I reckoned I’d a-heerd birds laff afore this, but I
made an error. My ’ivens, sir ! but he jest clinched
on to that pea-stick, an’ shook the enj’yment out of
hissei’ like a conjurer shellin’ cannon-balls from a
hat. An’ then he’d stop a bit, an’ then fall to hootin’
agen, till I was forced to laff too, way back behind
the hedge, for cumpanny. An’ ivery time he noted a
fresh bit o’ likelihood in the scarecrow he’d go off in
a fresh fit. I thought he’d niver ha’ done.

" But in a while he hushed, an’ waited a bit to
calm hes nerves, an’ stepped down off the pea-stick.
Thinks I, ‘ What es he up to now ? ’ An’ I stood up
to see, but quiet-like, so’s I shudn’ scare ’n.

“ I hadn’ long to wait. He jest steps up behind
the scarecrow, makes a leg, so grave as you plaise,
an’ commences for to dance round ’un — fust 'pon wan
leg, then ’pon t’other — like as ef ’twas a haythen
dancin’ round a graven image. But the flauntin’
ins’lence o’t, sir ! The brazen, fleerin’ abusefulness !
Not a feather, ef you’ll believe me, but fairly leaked
wi’ ribaldry — jest leaked.

“ Th’ ould bird had got ha’f-way round, a-mincin’
an’ japin’, an’ throwin’ out hes legs this way an’ that
an’ gettin’ more boldacious an’ ondacent wi’ ivery
step, when he cocks his head askew for a second, jest
to see how the pore image was a-takin’ o’t, an’ that
moment he catches the scarecrow’s eye.

“ Aw, sir, to see the change as corned over that

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bird ! The forthiness 1 went out o’n for all the world
like wind out 'n a pricked bladder ; an’ I reckon nex’
minnit there warn’t no meaner, sicklier-lookin’ critter
atween this an' Johnny Groats’ than that ould rook.
There was a kind o’ shever ran through ’n, an’ hes
feathers went ruffly-like, an’ hes legs bowed in, an’
he jes’ lay flat to groun’ and goggled an’ glazed up at
that eye like a dyin’ duck in a thunderstorm. ’Twas
a rich sight, sir; an’ how I contrived not to bust
mysel' wi’ laffin’, es more’n I can tell ’ee to this day.

“ So he lay for up ten minnits, an’ then he staggered
up ’pon hes feet an’ sneaked out o’ them peas like a
chuck-sheep dog, an’ the repent’nce a-tricklin’ out ’n
ivery pore. He passed me by that close I cou’d ha'
knacked 'n over wi’ a stick, but he didn’ see me
more’n ef I’d a’been a pisky-man.2 All hes notiss,
I reckon, were for that gashly eye ; an’ he looked back
ivery now and agen, like as ef he’d say, ‘ I be but
worms; an’, wuss nor that. I’ve a-been a scoffin’,
lyin’, Sabbath-breakin’ ould worms; but do ’ee let
me off this wance, an’ I’ll strive an’ wrastle,' he
seemed to say, ‘ an’ do purty well all a rook can to
be gathered to the fold.’ An’ wi’ that he slinks over
th' hedge an’ out o’ sight.

“ Well, sir, I didn’ see ’n agen nex’ day, nor for
many days arter; but on Sunday-week, as et mou’t
be, i’ the mornin’ I’d a-took French lave an’ absented
mysel’ from Meetin’ House, an' were quietly smokin’
my pipe up in the town-place,3 when I hears a
chitterin’ an’ a chatterin’ like as ’twere a little way
off ; an’ lookin’ down t’wards the twenty-acred field,
I seed 'twere black wi’ rooks — fairly black, sir —
black as the top o’ your hat. Thinks I, ‘ I reckon

1 Boldness, forwardness. 3 A fairy. 3 Farm-yard.

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here’s some new caper/ an’ I loafes down to see the

fun.

“ I stales down the lane, an’ looks over the gate,
an’ when I takes in, at las’, what ’tes all about, my !
— you mou’t ha’ knacked me down wi’ a feather !
'Twas a prayer-meetin’ them rooks was a-holdin’, sir,
as I’m a senner. The peas was fairly hid wi’ the
crowd, an’ ’twas that thick I counted sax ’pon wan
pea-stick. An’ in the middle, jes’ onder the scare¬
crow, stood up th’ ould rook I’d a-seen afore, an’ told
hes experiences. He ramped, an’ raved, an’ mopped,
an’ mowed, an’ kep’ a-noddin’ his head t' wards the
scarecrow, to show how hes salvashun was worked;
an’ all the time the rest o’ the rooks sat still as mice.
On’y when he pulls up to breathe a bit, they lets out
an’ squalls, as ef to say, ‘ Amen. 'Tes workin’ — ’tes
workin’ ! Pray strong, brother ! ’ an’ at et he’d go
agen, same as he must. An’ at las’, when ’twas ‘ hold
breath or bust ’ wi’ ’un, he ups an’ starts a hemn, an’
they all jines in, till you mou’t hear the caprouse 1
two mile off. That were the finish, too; for arter
the row died away, there was a minnit or so o’ silent
prayer, an’ then the whole gang gets up off they pea-
sticks an’ sails away for Squire Tresawsen’s rookery,
t’other side o’ the hill.

“ Well, in cou’se I tells the tale, an’ was called a
hard for my pains. But the same thing happen’d nex’
Sunday, an’ the Sunday arter — an’ not a pea stolen all
the time — an’ a good few people corned down behind
the hedge to see, an’ owned up as I were right. Et
got to be the talk o’ the country; an’ how ’twud ha'
ended, goodness on’y knaws, ef I hadn' a-spi’led the
sport mysel’. An’ how I did so, you shall hear.

1 Noise, tumult.

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“Wan day I tuk a consait as ’twud be a game to
take away the scarecrow’s eye an’ see what happen’d.
So, late 'pon a Sat'rday night, down I goes an’ digs
out the eye wi’ my jack-knife, an’ lays et careful
down ’pon the ground beside et, an’ so off to bed.

“ Nex’ mornin’ I were down waitin’ some time afore
the rooks was due, an’ by-’m-by, about ’leven in the
forenoon, 'long they comes by the score, an’ takes
the sittin’s ’pon the pea-sticks. They was barely
settled, when out steps my ould rook an’ walks up
to the scarecrow to lead off same as ushul.

“ He gives a shake o’ the head to set hes j awin’ -
tacks loose, casts a glance up’ards t’ wards the eye,
jes’ to fetch inspirashun, an’ starts back like as ef
shot. You cou’d see the ’stonishment clinch ’n,
an’ the look o’ righteousness melted off hes face like
snow in an oven. For that bird had gifts, sir; an’
wan o’ these was a power o’ fashul expresshun.
Well, back he starts, an’, with the same, cotches
sight o’ the eye lyin’ ’pon the ground an’ starin’ up
all heav’nly-blue an’ smilin’.

“ There was a pause arter this, jes’ about so long
as you cou’d count twenty ; an’ the rest o’ the congre-
gashun began to fidget an’ whisper round that suthin’
was up, when all 'pon a sudden my ould rook
straightens hissel’ up an’ begins to cuss and to swear.
What’s that you say, sir ? Rooks don’t swear ? Don’t
tell me. Blasphemin’ ? Why, in two minnits the air
was stiff wi’ blasphemy — you might ha’ cut et wi’ a
knife. An’ oaths? Why, you cou’d feel the oaths.
An’ there he sot an’ cussed, an’ cussed an’ sot, an’
let the hatefulness run out like watter from a pump.

“ In cou’se, 'twarnt long afore the rest gather’d
round to larn what the mess was, an’ then there was

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Chevychace. They handed round the eye, an’ looked
at et this way an’ that, an' ’splained what had
happen’d wan to t’other; an’ then they hushed an’
stood quiet while their dasayved brother cussed
hissel’ out. Not a smile ’mongst the lot, sir; not a
wink, as I be a truthful man.

** At las' he’d a-done, an’ not too soon for hes
lungs ; an’ then the lot sat down an’ conseddered et
out, an’ still not a word for minnits togither. But
all to wanst up starts a youngish-lookin’ rook, an’
makes a speech.

“ ’Twam’t a long speech, sir, an’ nat’rally I didn’t
understand a word : but I cotched his drift in a
minnit, tho’. For they rooks started up, walked back
to their seats, an’ what do ’ee think they did ? ”

“ I couldn’t pretend to guess,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ They jes’ started that sarvice agan, sir, an’
paradised et from start to finish. They mixed up
low jests wi’ the prayers, an’ flung in fancy yarns
wi’ their experiences, an’ made a mock at th’ exhorta-
shun; an’ what they sung in place o’ the hemn, I
don’t know ; but I do knaw this much — et warn’t fit
for a woman to list’n to.

“ Well, I laffed — I was forced to laff — but arter a
while et grew a bit too strong, an’ I runned up to th’
house to fetch down a few folks to look. I wam’t
away ’bove ten minnits; but when I corned back
there warn’t no rook to be seen, nor no eye nuther.
They’d a-carr’d et off to Squire Tresawsen’s rookery,
an’ et’s niver been seen fro’ that day to this.”
******

There was silence for a few moments as Caleb
finished his story and lit another pipe. Finally Mr.
Fogo roused him to ask —

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“ What became of your master, Caleb? ”

“ Dead, sir — dead,” answered Caleb, staring into
the embers of the fire. “ He lived to a powerful age,
tho’ albeit a bit totelin’ 1 in hes latter days. But for
all that he mou’t ha’ been like Tantra-bobus— lived
till he died, or at least been a centurion - ”

“A what? ”

“ Centurion, sir ; otherwise a hundred years old.
But he went round land 2 at las’, an’ was foun’ dead
in hes bed — o’ heart-break, they did say, 'long o’ his
gran’-darter Joanna runnin’ away wi’ an army
cap’n.”

“ Ah ! ” said Mr. Fogo, pensively, " she was a
woman, was she not ? ”

“To be sure, sir; what elst?— a female woman,
an’ so baptised.”

There was a moment’s silence ; then Caleb
resumed —

“ But contrari-wise, sir, the army cap’n was a
man.”

“Ah! yes, of course; let us be just — the army
captain was a man. Caleb,” said Mr. Fogo, with a
sudden change from his pensive manner, “ has it
ever occurred to you to guess why I — not yet an old
man, Caleb — am living in this solitude? ”

“ Beggin’ your pard’n, sir, an’ makin’ so free as to
guess, but were it a woman by any chance ? ”

“Yes,” said his master, rising hurriedly and light¬
ing his candle, “ it was a woman, Caleb — it was a
woman. You won’t forget that Notice to-morrow
morning, will you? — the first thing, if you please,
Caleb.”

1 Demented, imbecile.

128

1 Died.

CHAPTER XII

OF DETERIORATION ; AND A WHEELBARROW THAT
CONTAINED UNEXPECTED THINGS

Great events meanwhile were happening in Troy.
On the eighth morning of his eclipse Admiral Buzza
was startled by a brisk step upon the stairs ; the
devil’s tattoo was neatly struck upon his bed-room
door, and the head of Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys looked in.

“Ah! Admiral, here you are; like What’s-his-
name in the ruins of Thingummy. You’ll pardon
me coming up, but my wife is downstairs with Mrs.
Buzza, and I was told I should find you here. Don’t
rise — ‘ no dress,’ as they say. May I smoke ? Thanks.
And how are you by this time ? I heard something
of your mishap, but not the rights of it. I’ll sit down,
and you can tell me all about it.”

Here was affability indeed. The Admiral conquered
his first impulse of diving beneath the bed-clothes,
and, lying back, recounted his misadventure at some
length. The Honourable Frederic listened and smoked
with perfect gravity. At the close he said —

“Very dirty treatment, ’pon my word; though
I’m not sure I don’t sympathise with the fellow in
warning off the women. But why stay in bed ? ”

“ There are feelings,” — began the Admiral.

“ Ah ! to be sure — injured feelings — ungrateful
country — blow, blow, thou winter wind, &c. So you
take to bed, like the Roman gentleman who went too ;
forget the place. Gets rid of the women, too;
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nuisance — women — when you're upset ; nonsense,
that about pain and anguish playing the deuce, and a
ministering angel thou — tommy- rot, I call it. Can’t
be bothered, now, in bed — turn round and snore ;
wife has hysterics — snore louder. Capital ! I’ve a
mind to try the same plan when Geraldine is fussing
and fuming. These infernal women - ”

I am sorry to say that the Admiral, instead of
defending Mrs. Buzza, began to exculpate Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys.

“ But your wife is so charming, so - ”

“ Of course, my dear sir; so is Mrs. Buzza.”

“ She was termed the ‘ Belle of Portsmouth ’ at
the Ball where I proposed to her,” remarked the
Admiral, with some complacency.

“To be sure; trust a sailor to catch the pretty
girls — eh? ”

The Admiral chuckled feebly.

“ But these women - ”

“ Ah ! yes; these women - ”

“ Bachelor life was pleasant — eh. Admiral ? ”

“ Ah ! ”

The two men looked at each other. A smile spread
over either countenance. I regret to say the Admiral
winked, and then chuckled again.

“ Admiral, you must get up.”

The Admiral stared interrogatively ; his visitor
pursued, with some inconsequence — “ By the way,
is there a club here ? ”

“ There’s the ‘ Jolly Trojans ’ down at the ‘ Man-
o’-War ’ ; they meet on Tuesdays, Thursdays,
and - ”

“ Low lot, I suppose? ”

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“Well, yes,” admitted the Admiral; "a certain
amount of good fellowship prevails, I understand;
but low, of course — distinctly low.”

The Honourable Frederic tapped his boot reflectively
with his malacca.

“ Admiral,” he said at last, “ you ought to found
a Club here.”

“ Bless my heart ! I never thought of it.”

“ It is your duty.”

“ You think so ? ”

“ Sure of it.”

" I will get up,” said the Admiral decisively. He
started out of bed, and looked around for his clothes.

“ Nice place, the country,” pursued the Honourable
Frederic thoughtfully ; “ fresh eggs, and grass to
clean your pipe with — but apt to be dull. Now, a
pleasant little society; cards, billiards, and social
reunions — select, of course - ”

“ Of course. Do you happen to be sitting on my
trousers? ”

"Eh? No, I believe — no. Let me see — limited
loo and a modest pool of an evening. Hullo ! what’s
the matter ? ”

The Admiral had rushed to the door.

“ Emily ! ” he bawled down the stairs.

“Well, I’ll be going. Can’t find your trousers?
Admiral, it’s the last straw. But we’ll be revenged.
Admiral. We’ll found a Club ; and, by George,
sir, we’ll call it ' The Inexpressibles ’ ! Ta-ta for the
present,” and Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys retired.

But what was being discussed below when the
Admiral’s voice disturbed his wife ? Alas ! you
shall hear.

Troy Town

“ These men,” Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was saying,
“ are all alike. But, my dear, why not disregard his
absurd humours ? I have revolted from Frederic
long ago.”

“ You don't say so ! ”

“ It is a fact. Take my advice and do the same.
It needs courage at first, but they are all cowards —
oh, such cowards, my dear ! Revolt. Cry ‘ Havoc ! '
and let slip - ”

“ My dear, I should faint.”

“ Oh, poor soul ! Reflect ! How pretty the
domestic virtues are, but how impossible ! Besides,
how unfashionable ! ”

Mrs. Buzza reflected.

” I will ! ” she exclaimed at last. Just then her
husband's voice detonated in the room above. She
arose, trembling like a leaf.

“ Be firm,” said her adviser.

“ I will.”

“ Sit down again. It will do him no harm to
wait.”

Mrs. Buzza obeyed, still trembling.

It was at this moment that the Honourable Frederic
re-entered the room, and looked around with a slow
smile.

“ Nellie,” he observed, when they were outside the
house, “ you’re a vastly clever woman, my love.”

“ How’s the Admiral? ” was the reply.

“ He nibbles, my angel ; he bites.”

“ I heard him barkin’. An’ how long will Brady
be givin’ us ? ”

” Two months, my treasure.”

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Mrs. Goochvyn-Sandys reflected for a moment,
and then made the following extraordinary reply —

“ Be aisy, me dear. In six weeks I’ll be ready to
elope from yez.”

What passed between the Admiral and Mrs. Buzza
when they were left together was never fully known.
But it was quickly whispered that in No. 2, Alma
Villas, the worm had turned. Oddly enough, the
spread of conjugal estrangement did not end here.
It began to be rumoured that Lawyer Pellow and his
wife had “ differences ” ; that Mr. and Mrs. Simpson
dined at different hours ; and that the elder Miss
Strip had broken off a very suitable match with
a young ship’s chandler, on the ground that ship’s
candles were not “ genteel.” It was about this
time, too, that Mrs. Wapshot, at the confectionery
shop, refused to walk with Mr. Wapshot on the
Rope-walk after Sunday evening service, because
domestic bliss was “ horrid vulgar ” ; and Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys’ dictum that “ one admirer, at
least, was no more than a married woman’s due,”
only failed of acceptance because the supply of
admirers in Troy fell short of the demand. She
had herself annexed Samuel Buzza and Mr. Moggridge.

Meanwhile the Admiral was not idle; and had
anything been needed to whet his desire for a Club,
it would have been found in a dreadful event that
happened shortly afterwards.

It was May-morning, and the Admiral was planted
in the sunshine outside No. 2, Alma Villas, loudly
discussing the question of the hour with Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys, Lawyer Pellow, and the little Doctor.

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“ No, we can’t have him,” he was roundly declaring ;
“ the Club must be select, or it is useless to discuss
it further.”

“ Must draw the line somewhere,” murmured
the Honourable Frederic.

“ Quite so ; at this rate we shall be admitting
all the ‘ Jolly Trojans.’ ”

Just then an enormous wheelbarrow was observed
approaching, seemingly by supernatural means,
for no driver could be seen. The barrow was piled
to a great height, and staggered drunkenly from side
to side of the road; but the load, whatever it was,
lay hidden beneath a large white cloth.

“ H’m ! ” said the little Doctor dubiously. “ Well,
of course, you know best, but I should have thought
that as an old inhabitant of Troy - ”

“ Pooh, my dear fellow,” snapped the Admiral,
“it is natural that the feelings of a few will be hurt ;
but if once we begin to elect the ‘ Jolly Trojans ’ - ”

The barrow had drawn near meanwhile, and now
halted at the Admiral’s feet. From behind it stepped
into view an exceeding small boy, attired mainly
in a gigantic pair of corduroys that reached to the
armpits, and were secured with string around the
shoulders. His face was a mask of woe, and he
staunched his tears on a very grimy shirt-sleeve
as he stood and gazed mutely into the Admiral’s
face.

“ Go away, boy ! ” said Admiral Buzza severely.

The boy sobbed loudly, but made no sign of moving.

“ Go away, I tell you ! ”

“ ’Tes for you, sir.”

“ For me? What does the boy mean? ”

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“ Iss, sir. Missusses orders that I was to bring
et to Adm’ral Buzza’s ; an’ ef I don’t pay out Billy

Higgs for this nex’ time I meets wi’ 'un - ”

“ The child’s daft ! ” roared the Admiral. “ D -

the boy ! what has Billy Higgs to do with me ? ”

obterved Me H&nouroble Irredt^riz ■

“ Poured a teacupful o’ water down the nape o’
my breeches when I’d got ha’f-way up the hill an’
cudn’ set the barrow down to fight 'un — the coward !
Boo — hoo ! ” and tears flowed again at the recollection.
“ What is it ? ”

" Cake, sir.”

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" Cake ! ”

“ Iss, sir — cake.”

The youth stifled a sob, and removed the white
cover from the wheelbarrow.

“ Bless my soul ! ” gasped the Admiral, " there
must be some mistake.”

“ It certainly seems to be cake,” observed the
Honourable Frederic, examining the load through
his eye-glass ; “ and very good cake, too, by the
smell.”

He was right. High on the barrow, and sym¬
metrically piled, rested five-and-twenty huge cakes —
yellow cakes such as all Trojans love — each large as
a mill-stone, tinctured with saffron, plentifully stowed
with currants, and crisp with brown crust, steaming
to heaven, and wooing the nostrils of the gods.

“ Bless my soul ! ” repeated the Admiral, “ but
I never ordered this.”

Each member of the group in turn advanced,
inspected the cake, sniffed the savour, pronounced
it excellent, and looked from the Admiral to the
boy for explanation.

“ Mrs. Dymond down to the ‘ Man-’o-War ’ sent
et, sir, wi’ her compliments to Maaster Sam, an' hopin’
as he’ll find et plum i’ the bakin’ as it leaves her at
present, an’ the currants all a-picked careful, knowin’
as he’d a sweet tooth.”

“ Sam ! Do you mean to tell me that Sam —
that my son — ordered this ? Upon my word, of
all - ”

“ Didn’ azackly order et, sir. Won et fair an’
square. Bill Odgers corned nex’ wi’ seven-an’-ninety
gallon. But Master Sam topped the lot by a dozen
gallon aisy.”

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“ Gallons ! What the devil is the boy talking
about ? ”

“ Beer, sir — beer; fust prize for top score o’ beer
drunk down to the ‘ Man-o’-War ’ sence fust o’
November last. He’s a wunner for beer, es Maaster
Sam,” pursued the relentless urchin, who by this time
had forgotten his tears. “ Hunderd an’ nine gallons,
sir, an’ Bill Odgers so jallous as fire — says he’d ha’
won et same as he did last time, on’y Maaster Sam’s
got the longer purse — offered to fight 'un, an’ the wuss
man to pay for both nex’ time.”

Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys turned aside to conceal a
smile. Lawyer Pellow rubbed his chin. The Admiral
stamped.

“ Take it away ! ”

“ Where be I to take it to, plaise, sir ? ”

“ Take it away — anywhere ; take it to the devil ! ”

But worse remained for the little man. During
this conversation there had come unperceived up
the road a gentleman of mild appearance, dressed
in black, and carrying under his arm a large parcel
wrapped about with whitey-brown paper.

The new-comer, who was indeed our friend Mr.
Fogo, now advanced towards the Admiral with a bow.

“ Admiral Buzza, I believe ? ”

The Admiral turned and fac^d the speaker; his
jaw fell like a signal flag; but he drew himself up
with fine self-repression.

“ Sir, I am Admiral Buzza.”

" I have come,” said Mr. Fogo, quietly pulling
the pins out of his parcel, “ to restore what I believe
is your property (Will somebody oblige me by hold¬
ing this pin? Thank you), and at the same time
to apologise for the circumstances under which it

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came into my hands. (Dear me, what a number of
pins, to be sure !) I have done what lay in my power
with a clothes-brush and emery-powder to restore
it to its pristine brilliance. The treatment (That is
the last, I think) has not, I am bound to admit,
answered my expectations; its result, however, is
as you see.”

Here Mr. Fogo withdrew the wrapper and with a
pleasant smile held out — a cocked hat.

The Admiral, purple with fury, bounced back
like a shot on a red-hot shovel; stared; tried to
speak, but could not ; gulped ; tried again ; and
finally, shaking his fist in Mr. Fogo’s face, flung
into the house and slammed the front door.

The cause of this transport turned a pair of be¬
wildered spectacles on the others, and found them
convulsed with unseemly mirth. He singled out the
Honourable Frederic, and addressed himself to that
gentleman.

“ I have not the pleasure to be acquainted with
you, sir; but if you can supply me with any reason
for this display of temper, believe me - ”

“ My name is Goodwyn-Sandys, sir, at your - ”

“ What ! ”

Mr. Fogo dropped the cocked hat and sat down
suddenly among the cakes.

“ Are you,” he gasped — “ are you Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys — the Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe
Good - ? Heavens!”

“No, sir,” said the Honourable Frederic, who had
grown a thought pale. “ Good wyn, sir — Goodwyn-
Sandys. What then? ”

“ I never saw your face before,” murmured Mr.
Fogo faintly.

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“ That, sir, if a misfortune, is one which you share
with a number of your fellow-men. And permit me to
tell you, sir,” continued Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, with
unaccountable change of mood, “ that I consider
your treatment of my friend Admiral Buzza unworthy
of a gentleman, sir — unworthy of a gentleman.
Come, Doctor ; come, Pellow — I want a word or
two more with you about this Club.”

And Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys ruffled away, followed by
his two slightly puzzled companions.

For the space of two minutes Mr. Fogo gazed up the
road after them. Then he sighed, took off his spec¬
tacles, and wiped them carefully.

“ So that,” he said slowly, “ is the man she married.”

" Iss, sir.”

Mr. Fogo started, turned round on the barrow,
and beheld the urchin from the “ Man-o’-War.”

“ Little boy,” he said sternly, “ your conduct is
unworthy of a — I mean, what are you doing here ? ”

“ You’ve a-been an’ squashed a cake,” said the boy.

Mr. Fogo gave him a shilling, and hurried away
down the road; but stopped once or twice on his
homeward way to repeat to himself —

“ So that — is the man — she married.”

It took Admiral Buzza several days to recover
his composure; but when he did, the project of the
new Club grew with the conjugal disintegration of
Troy, and at a rate of progress scarcely inferior.
Within a week or two a house was hired in Nelson
Row, a brass-plate bearing the words “ Trojan Club ”
affixed to the door, and Admiral Buzza installed in
the Presidential Chair. The Presidential Chair
occupied the right-hand side of the reading-room

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window, which overlooked the harbour ; and the
Presidential duties consisted mainly in conning the
morning papers and discussing their contents with
Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys, who usually sat, with a glass
of whiskey and the Club telescope, on the left-hand
side of the window. Indeed, it would be hard to
say to which of the two, the whiskey or the telescope,
the Honourable Frederic more sedulously devoted
himself : it is certain, at least, that under the
Admiral’s instruction he soon developed a most
amazing familiarity with nautical terms, was a mine
of information (almost as soon as the Club invested
in a Yacht Register) on the subject of Lord Sinkport’s
yacht, the auxiliary screw Niobe, and swept the horizon
with a persistence that made his fellow-members stare.

But the most noticeable feature in this nautical
craze was the disproportionate attention which the
Honourable Frederic lavished on barques. It was
the first rig that he learnt to distinguish, and his
early interest developed before long into something
like a passion.

One morning, for instance, Sam Buzza lounged
into the reading-room and observed —

“ I say, have you seen that American barque that
came in last night — the Maritana ? ”

“What name?” asked Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys,
looking up suddenly.

“ The Maritana, or the Mariana, or Mary Ann,

or something of the - Hullo! what’s wrong ? ”

But the Honourable Frederic had caught up his
hat and fled. Half an hour afterwards, when he
returned, his usual calm self, the little Doctor took
occasion to remark, “ Upon my word, you might
be a detective, you keep such a look-out on the har-

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hour ” — a remark which caused Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys
to laugh so consumedly that the Doctor, without
exactly seeing the point, began to think he had per¬
petrated quite a considerable joke.

But let no one imagine that the disruption of
Trojan morals avoided heart-burning or escaped
criticism. For the line which Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys
declared must be drawn somewhere was found not
only to bisect the domestic hearth, but to lead to
a surprising number of social problems. It fell
across the parallels of our small society, and demon¬
strated that Mrs. A and Mrs. B could never meet ;
that one room could not contain the two unequal
families X and Y ; and that while one rested on the
basis of trade, and the other on professional skill,
it was unreasonable to expect the apex Mrs. Y to
coincide with the apex Mrs. X. Finally the New
Geometry culminated in a triumphant process, which
proved that while Mrs. Simpson was allowed to imbibe
tea and scandal in the company of the great, her
husband must sip his gin and water in solitude at home.

We had always been select in Troy; but then,
in the old days, all Troy had been included in the
term. When Mr. Simpson had spoken of the “ Jack
of Oaks ” (meaning the Knave of Clubs), or had
said “ fainaiguing ” (where others said “ revoking "),
we had pretended not to notice it, until at length
we actually did not. So that a human as well as a
philological interest attaches to the date when fashion
narrowed the meaning of Cumeelfo to exclude the
Jack of Oaks, and sent Mr. Simpson home to his
gin and water.

The change was discussed with some asperity
in the bar-parlour of the “ Man-o'-War.”

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“ The hupper classes in Troy es bloomin’ fine
nowadays,” remarked Rechab Geddye (locally known
as Rekkub) over his beer on the night when the resig¬
nations of Mr. Buzza Junior and Mr. Moggridge
had been received by the “ Jolly Trojans.”

“ Ef they gets the leastest bit finer, us shan’t be
able to see mun,” answered Bill Odgers, who was
reckoned a wit. “ I have heerd tell as Trojans was
cousins an’ hail-fellow-well-met all the world over ; but
the hayleet o’ this place es a-gettin’ a bit above itsel’.”

“ That’s a true word, Bill,” interposed Mrs. Dymond
from the bar ; " an’ to say ‘ Gie us this day our daily
bread,’ an’ then turn up a nose at good saffron cake
es flyin’ i’ the face o’ Pruwidence, an’ no less.”

“ I niver knawed good to come o’ titled gentry
yet,” said Bill.

“ You doan’t say that? ” exclaimed Rekkub, who
was an admirer of Bill's Radical views.

“ I do, tho’. Look at King Richard — him i’ the
play-actin’. I reckon he was wan o’ the hupper ten
ef anybody. An’ what does he do ? Why, throttles
a pair o’ babbies, puts a gen’l’m’n he’d a gridge agen
into a cask o’ wine — which were the spoliation o’
both — murders 'most ivery wan he claps eyes on,
an’ then when he’ve a-got the jumps an’ sees the
sperrits an’ blue fire, goes off an’ offers to swap hes
whole bloomin’ kingdom for a hoss — a hoss, mind you,
he hadn’ seen, let alone not bein’ in a state o’ mind to
jedge hoss-flesh. What’s true o’ kings I reckon es
true o’ Hon’rubbles ; they’m all reared up to the
same high notions, an’ I reckon us’ll find et out afore
long. I niver seed no good in makin’ Troy fash'-
nubble mysel’.”

142

CHAPTER XIII

THE SIGNIFICANCE OF POMEROY’S CAT; AND HOW
THE MEN AND WOMEN OF TROY ENSUED AFTER
PLEASURE IN BOATS

The historian of Troy here feels at liberty to pass over
six weeks with but scanty record. During that time
the Bankshire rose bloomed over Kit’s House, peered
in at the windows, and found Mr. Fogo for the most
part busied in peaceful carpentry, though with a
mysterious trouble in his breast that at times drove
him afield on venturous perambulations, or to his boat
to work off by rowing his too-meditative fit. From
these excursions he would return tired in body but
in heart eased, and resume his humdrum life tranquilly
enough ; though Caleb was growing uneasy, and felt
it necessary, more than once, to retire apart and
“ have et out,” as he put it, with his conscience.

“ Question es,” he would repeat, “ whether I be
justyfied in meddlin’ wi’ the Cou’se o’ Natur’ —
'speshully when the Cou’se o’ Natur’ es sich as I
approves. An’ s’posin’ I bain’t, furder question es,
whether I be right in receivin’ wan pound a week an’
a new set o’ small-clothes.”

This nice point in casuistry was settled for the time
by his waiving claim to the small-clothes, and inserting
in his old pair a patch of blue seacloth that contrasted
extravagantly with the veteran stuff — so extrava¬
gantly as to compel Mr. Fogo’s attention.

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“ Does it never strike you,” he asked one day as
Caleb was stooping over the wood-pile, “ that the
repairs in your trousers, Caleb, are a trifle emphatic ?
Purpureus, late qui splendeat — h’m, h’m — adsuitur
p annus. I mean, in the seat of your - ”

“ Conscience, sir,” said Caleb abruptly. “ Some
ties a bit o’ string round the finger to help the mem’ry.

I does et this way.”

“ Well, well, I should have thought it more apt to
assist the memory of others. Still, of course, you
know best.”

And Mr. Fogo resumed his work, and thought no
more about it; but Caleb alternated between moods
of pensiveness and fussy energy for some days after.

In Troy, summer was leading on a train of events
not to be classed among periodic phenomena. It
stands on record, for instance —

That Loo began to be played at the Club, and the
Admiral’s weekly accounts to grow less satisfactory
than in the days when he and Mrs. Buzza were stead¬
fast opponents at Whist.

That Mrs. Simpson discovered her great uncle to
have been a baronet on this earth.

That Mrs Payne had prefixed “ Ellicome ” to her
surname, and spoke of “ the Ellicome-Paynes, you
know.”

That Mr. Moggridge had been heard to speak of
ham Buzza as a “ low fellow.”

That Sam had retorted by terming the poet a
“ conceited ass.”

And —

That Admiral Buzza intended a Picnic.

To measure the importance of this last item, you

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must know that a Trojan picnic is no ordinary
function. To begin with, it is essentially patriotic —
devoted, in iact, to the cult of the Troy river, in
honour of which it forms a kind of solemn procession.
Undeviating tradition has fixed its goal at a sacred
rock, haunted oi heron and kingfisher, and wrapped
around with woodland, beside a creek so tortuous as
to simulate a series of enchanted lakes. Here the
self-respecting Trojan, as his boat cleaves the solitude,
will ask his fellows earnestly and at regular intervals
whether they ever beheld anything more lovely ; and
they, in duty bound and absolute truthfulness, will
answer that they never did.

It follows that a Trojan picnic depends for its
success to quite a peculiar degree upon the weather.
But on the day of the Admiral’s merry-making, this
was, beyond cavil, kind. Four boats started from
the Town Quay; four boats — alas ! — could by this
time contain the cumeelfo of Troy ; for everybody who
was anybody had been invited, and nobody (with the
exception of the Honourable Frederic, who could not
leave his telescope) had refused. Sam Buzza did
not start with the rest, but was to follow later ; and
in his absence Mr. Moggridge paid impressive court to
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, though uneasily, for Sophia’s
saddened eyes were upon him.

Yet everybody seemed in the best of spirits and
tempers. The Admiral, after bestowing his wife in
another boat, and glaring vindictively at Kit’s
House, where the figure of Mr. Fogo was visible on
the beach, grew exceedingly jocose, and cracked his
most admired jokes, including his famous dialogue
with the echo just beyond Kit’s House — a perform-

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ance which Miss Limpenny declared she had seldom
heard him give with such spirit. She herself, spurred
to emulation, told her favourite story, which began,
“ In the Great Exhibition of Eighteen Hundred and
Fifty-one, when her Majesty — long may she reign ! —

partook of a public luncheon - ” and contained a

most diverting incident about a cherry-pie. And
always, at decent intervals, she would exclaim —

“ Did you ever see anything more lovely ? ”

To which the Admiral as religiously would reply —
“ Really, I never did.”

Indeed the scene was, as Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,
in another boat, observed, “ Like a poet’s dream ” —
a remark at which Mr. Moggridge blushed very much.
I wish I could linger and describe with amorous pre¬
cision the bright talk, the glories of the day, each bend
and vista of the river which I have loved from child¬
hood; but amid the stress of events now crowding
with epic vehemence on Troy, the Muse must hasten.
Fain would she dally over the disembarkation, the
feast, the manner in which Admiral Buzza carved the
chicken-pie, and his humorous allusion to the merry¬
thought; or dwell upon the salad compounded by
Mr. Moggridge, the spider that was found in it, and
the conundrum composed upon that singular occur¬
rence; or loiter to tell how Miss Lavinia upset the
claret cup over the Vicar’s coat-tails, and, in her
confusion, said it " did not signify,” which was very
amusing. On this, and more, would she blithely
discourse, did not sterner themes invite her.

It happened that on this particular morning Mr.
Fogo had been restless beyond his wont. For a full
hour he had wandered on the beach, as Caleb ex-

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pressed it, “ Back’ards an’ forrards, like Boscas’le
Fair.” He had taken up mallet and chisel; had set
them down at the end of half an hour for his paint¬
box, and ruined a well-meaning sketch of the previous
day ; had deserted this in turn for another ramble on
the beach, and finally returned, with a helpless look,
to Caleb, who sat whistling and splicing a rope upon
the little quay.

“ Hurried in mind, sir, like Pomeroy’s cat,” sug¬
gested he sympathetically.

“ I have no acquaintance with the animal you
mention,” said his master.

“ I reckon ’twas she as got killed by care, sir. I
niver knawed mysel’ but wan animal as got downright
put-goin’ i’ that way, an’ that were a hen.”

“ A hen ? ”

“ Iss, sir. Et happen’d up to Penhellick, the las’
year I stayed 'long wi’ Lawyer Mennear. ’Twas a
reg’lar fool-body, this hen — a black Minorcy she were ;
but no egg iver laid were fuller o’ meat than she o’
good-feelin’ ; an’ prenciple ! she’d enuff prenciple
to stock a prayer-meetin’. But high prenciple in a
buffllehead's like a fish-bone i’ the throat — useful,
but out o’ place.

“ Well, sir, th’ ould Mennear wan day bought a
baker’s dozen of porc’lain eggs over to Summercourt
Fair : beautiful eggs they were, an’ you cudn’ tell
mun from real, 'cept by the weight. The very nex’
day, findin’ as hes Minorcy were layin’ for a brood i’
the loft above the cowshed, he takes up the true egg
while the old fowl were away an’ sets a porc’lain egg
in place of et. In cou’se, back comes the hen, an’
bein’ a daft body, as I told 'ee, an’ not used to these

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'ere refinements o' civilizashun, niver doubts but 'tes
the same as she laid. 'Twarn't long afore her’d a-laid
sax more, and then her sets to work to hatch mun out.

“ Nat’rally, arter a while the brood was all hatched
out, 'ceptin', o’ cou’se, the porc’lain egg. The mother
didn’t take no suspishun but ’twere all right, on’y a
bit stubborn. So her sot down for two days more, an’
did all a hen cud do to hatch that chick. No good ;
'twudn’ budge. You niver seed a fowl that hurted
in mind; but niver a thought o’ givin’ in. No, sir.
’Twasn’ her way. Her jes’ cocked her head aslant,
tuk a long stare at the cussed thing, an’ said, so plain
as looks cud say, ‘ Well, I’ve a-laid this egg, an’ I
reckon I've a-got to hatch et ; an’ ef et takes me to th’
aluminium, I’ll see et out.’ ”

“ The millennium,” corrected Mr. Fogo, who was
much interested.

“ Not bein’ over-eddicated, sir,” said Caleb, with
unconscious severity, “ that old hen, I reckon, said
‘ aluminium.’ But niver mind. Her sot, an’ sot,
an’ kept on settin’, an’ neglected the rest o’ they
chicks for what seemingly to her was the call o’ duty,
till wan’ by wan they all died. ’Twas pitiful, sir;
an’ the wust was to see her lay so much store by that
egg. Th’ ould Mennear was for takin’ et away ; but
'twud ha’ broke her heart. As ’twas, what wi’
anxi’ty an’ too little food, her wore to a shadow. I
seed her was boun’ to die, anyway ; an’ wan arternoon,
as I was in the cowshed, I heerd a weakly sort o’
cluckin’ overhead, an’ went up to look. ’Twas too
late, sir. Th’ ould hen was lying beside th’ egg,
glazin’ at et in a filmy sort o’ way, an’ breathin’
terrable hard. When I comes, she gi’es a look same

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as to say, ‘ I reckon I’ve a-got to go. I’ve a-been a
mother to that there egg; an’ I’d ha’ liked to see’t
through afore I went. But, seemingly, ’twarn’t
ordained.' An’ wi’ that there was a kind o’ flutter,
an’ when I turned her over I seed her troubles were
done. Thet fowl, sir, had passed.”

“ You tell the story with such sympathy, Caleb,
that I appeal to you the more readily for advice. I
find it hard to concentrate my attention this morning.”

“ Ef I mou’t make free to shake ’ee agen - ”

“ I should prefer any other cure.”

" Very well, sir. I have heerd, from trippers as
comes to Troy, to spend the day an’ get drunk in
anuther parish for vari’ty’s sake, as a pennorth o’
say es uncommon refreshin’.”

“ A pennyworth of sea? ”

“ That’s so, sir. Twelve in a boat, an’ a copper a
head to the boatman to row so far as there an’ back,
which es cheap an’ empt’in’ at the price, as a chap
told me.”

“ You advise me to take a row? ”

“ Iss, sir ; on'y I reckon you’d best go up the river,
ef you’m goin’ alone. Though whether you prefers
the resk o’ meetin’ Adm’ral Buzza to bein' turned
topsy-versy outside the harbour-mouth, es a question
I leaves to you. 'Tes a matter o’ taste, as Mounseer
said by the yaller frog.”

Mr. Fogo decided to risk an encounter with the
Admiral. In a few minutes he was afloat, and briskly
rowing in the wake of the picnic-party.

But black Care, that clambers aboard the sea-going
galley, did not disdain a seat in the stern of Mr.
Fogo’s boat. She sat her down there, and would not

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budge for all his pulling. Neither could the smile of
the clear sky woo her thence, nor the voices of the
day; but as on ship-board she must still be talking
to the man at the wheel, and on horseback im¬
portunately whispering to the rider from her pillion, so
now she besieged the ear of Mr. Fogo, to whom her
very sex was hateful.

Further and further he rowed in vain attempt to
shake off this incubus ; passed at some distance the
rock where the picnickers had spread their meal
(luckily, the Admiral’s back was turned to the river),
doubled the next bend, ran his boat ashore on a little
patch of shingle overarched with trees, and, stepping
out, sat down to smoke a pipe.

Secure from observation, he could hear the laughter
of the picnickers borne melodiously through the
trees ; and either this or the tobacco chased his com¬
panion from his side ; for his brow cleared, the puffs
of smoke came more calmly, and before the pipe was
smoked out, Mr. Fogo had sunk into a most agreeable
fit of abstraction.

He was rudely aroused by the sound of voices close
at hand. Indeed, the speakers were but a few yards
off, on the bank above him.

Now Mr. Fogo was the last man to desire to over¬
hear a conversation. But the first word echoed so
aptly his late musings, and struck his memory, too,
with so deep a pang, that before he recovered it was
too late.

“ Geraldine ! ”

“ Oh ! why is it? ” — (it was a woman’s voice that
asked the question, though not the voice that Mr,

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Fogo had half expected to hear, and his very relief
brought a shudder with it) — “ oh ! why is it that a,
man and a woman cannot talk together except in
lies? You ask if I am unhappy. Say what yon
mean. Do I hate my husband ? Well, then — yes ! "

“ My dear Mrs. -

“ Is that frank enough? Oh ! yes, I have lied so-
consistently throughout my married life that I tell
the truth now out of pure weariness. I detest him :
sometimes I feel that I must kill either Fred or myself,
and end it all.”

“ Bless my soul ! ” murmured Mr. Fogo, cowering
more closely. “ This country teems with extra¬
ordinary people ! ”

He held his breath as the deeper voice answered —

“ Had I thought - ”

“ Stop ! I know what you would say, and it is-
untrue. Be frank as I am. You had half-guessed
my secret, and were bound to convince yourself : and
why ? Shall I tell you, or will you copy my candour
and speak for yourself ? ”

Dead silence followed this question. After some
seconds the woman's voice resumed —

“ Ah ! all men are cowards. Well, I will tell you.
Your question implied yet another, and it was, Do I,
hating my husband, love you ? ”

“ Geraldine ! ”

“ Do you still wish that question answered ? I will
do you that favour also : Listen : for the life of me —
I don't know.”

And the speaker laughed — a laugh full of amused
tolerance, as though her confession had left her a
careless spectator of its results. Mr. Fogo shuddered,

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“ In heaven’s name, Geraldine, don’t mock me ! ”

“ But it is true. How should I know ? You have
talked to me, read me your verses — and, indeed, I
think them very beautiful. You have with com¬
parative propriety, because in verse, invited me to
fly with thee to a desolate isle in the Southern Sea —
wherever that is — and forgetting my shame and
likewise blame, while you do the same with name and
fame and its laurel-leaf, go to moral grief on a coral
reef - ”

“ Geraldine, you are torturing me.”

“ Do I not quote correctly? My point is this: —
A woman will listen to talk, but she admires action.
Prove that you are ready, not to fly to a coral reef,
but to do me one small service, and you may have
another answer.”

“ Name it.”

Mr. Fogo, peering through the bushes as one
fascinated, saw an extremely beautiful woman con¬
fronting an extremely pale youth, and fancied also
that he saw a curious flash of contempt pass over the
woman’s features as she answered—

“ Really unless you kill the Admiral next time he
makes a pun, I do not know that just now I need such
a service. By to-morrow, though, or the next day,
I may think of one. Until then ” — she held out her
hand — " wait patiently, and be kind to Sophia.”

Mr. Moggridge started as though stung by a snake ;
but, recollecting himself, imprinted a kiss upon the
proffered fingers. Again Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
laughed with unaffected mirth, and again the hidden
witness saw that curious gleam of scorn — only now, as
the young man bent his head, it was not dissembled.

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They were gone. Mr. Fogo sank back against
the bushes, drew a long breath, and passed his hand
nervously over his eyes; but though the scene had
passed as a dream, the laugh still rang in his ears.

“It is a judgment on me ! ” muttered the poor
man — “ a judgment ! They are all alike.”

Curiously enough, his next reflection appeared tO'
contradict this view of the sex.

“ An extraordinary woman ! But every fresh
person I meet in this place is more eccentric than the
last. Let me see,” he continued, checking off the
list on his fingers; “ there’s Caleb, and that astound¬
ing Admiral, and the Twins, and Tamsin - ”

Mr. Fogo stared very hard at the water for some
seconds.

“ And Tamsin,” he repeated slowly. “ Hullo f
my feet seem to be in the water — and, bless my soul 1
what has become of the boat ? ”

He might well ask. The tide had been steadity
rising as he crouched under the banks, and was now
lapping his boots. Worse than this, it had floated off
the boat, which he had carelessly forgotten to secure,
and drifted it up the river, at first under cover of
the trees, afterwards more ostentatiously into mid¬
channel.

Mr. Fogo rushed up the patch of shingle until
brought to a standstill by its sudden declension into
deep water. There was no help for it. Not a soul
was in sight. He divested himself rapidly of his
clothes, piled them in a neat little heap beyond reach
of the tide, and then with considerable spirit plunged
into the flood and struck out in pursuit of the truant.

153

CHAPTER XIV

OF A LADY OF SENSIBILITY THAT, BEING AWKWARDLY

PLACED, MIGHT EASILY HAVE SET MATTERS

RIGHT, BUT DID NOT : WITH MUCH BESIDE

It is hardly necessary by this time to inform my
readers that Miss Priscilla Limpenny was a lady of
sensibility. We have already seen her obey the
impulse of the heart rather than the cool dictates
of judgment : her admiration of natural beauty she
has herself confessed more than once during the voyage
op the river. But lest more than a due share of this
admiration should be set down to patriotism, I wish
to put it on record that she possessed to an uncommon
■degree an appreciative sense of the poetic side of
Nature. She was familiar with the works of Mrs.
Hemans and L. E. L., and had got by heart most of
the effusions in “ Affection’s Keepsake ” and “ Friend¬
ship’s Offering.” Nay, she had been, in her early
youth, suspected, more than vaguely, of contributing
fugitive verse to a periodical known as the Household
Packet. She had even, many years ago, met the Poet
Wordsworth “ at the dinner-table,” as she expressed
it, “ of a common friend,” and was never tired of
relating how the great man had spoken of the prunes as
“ pruins,” and said “ Would you obleege me with the
salt ? ”

With such qualifications for communion with
nature it is not wonderful that, on this particular
afternoon, Miss Limpenny should have wandered

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pensively along the river’s bank, and surrendered
herself to its romantic charm. Possessed by the
spirit of the place and hour, she even caught herself
straying by the extreme brink, and repeating those
touching lines from “ Affection’s Keepsake ” : —

“ The eye roams widely o’er glad Nature’s face,

To mark each varied and delightful scene;

The simple and magnificent we trace,

While loveliness and brightness intervene ;

Oh ! everywhere is something found to - ”

At this point Miss Limpenny’s gaze lost its dreamy
expansiveness, and grew rigid with horror. Immedi¬
ately before her feet, and indelicately confronting her,
lay a suit of man’s clothing.

It is a curious fact, though one we need not linger to
discuss, that while clothes are the very symbol and
first demand of decency, few things become so
flagrantly immodest when viewed in themselves and
apart from use. The crimson rushed to Miss Lim¬
penny’s cheek. She uttered a cry and looked around.

Inexorable fate, whose compulsion directed that
gaze ! If raiment apart from its wearer be unseemly,
how much more -

About thirty yards from her, wading down the
stream, and tugging the painter of his recovered
boat, advanced Mr. Fogo.

To add a final touch of horror, that gentleman,
finding that the damp on his spectacles completely
dimmed his vision, had deposited them in the boat,
and was therefore blind to the approaching catas¬
trophe. Unconscious even of observation, he ad¬
vanced nearer and nearer.

Miss Limpenny’s emotion found vent in a squeal.

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Mr. Fogo, heard, halted, and gazed blankly around.

“ How singular ! ” he murmured. “ I could have
sworn I heard a cry.”

He made another step. The sound was repeated,
more shrilly.

“ Again ! And, dear me, it sounds human — as of
some fellow-creature in distress.”

“ Go away ! Go away at once ! ”

" Eh ? Bless my soul, what can it be ? ” Mr.
Fogo stared in the direction whence the voice pro¬
ceeded, but of course without seeing anything.

“ I beg your pardon? ” he observed mildly.

“ Go away ! ”

” If you will allow me - ” he began, courteously

addressing vacancy.

“ Monster ! ”

The awful truth began to dawn upon him, and was
followed by a hasty impulse to dive.

“ If,” he stammered, “ I am right in supposing
myself to address a lady - ”

“ Don’t talk to me, but go away.”

“ I was about to ask permission to resume my
spectacles, which I have unfortunately laid aside.”

“ No, no. That would be worse. Oh ! go away at
once.”

“ Pardon me, madam. I am aware that spectacles
are insufficient as a— I mean, I did not propose to
consider them in the light of a costume, but as an
assistance to my sight, without which - ”

“ Oh ! I shall faint.”

“ Without which it will be impossible for me to
extricate myself from this extremely unfortunate
situation. I am notoriously short-sighted, madam,

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and at this distance could not tell you from Adam — I
should say, from Eve,” continued Mr. Fogo, desper¬
ately reaching out for his spectacles and adjusting
them.

By the imperfect glimpse which he obtained through
the glasses (which were still damp) he was almost
moved to adopt his first impulse of deserting the boat
and diving. But even if he swam away the case
would be no better, for this unreasonable female stood
sentry beside his clothes.

“ If I might make a suggestion, madam - ”

But by this time Miss Limpenny had broken forth
into a series of sobs and plaintive cries for protection.
Alas ! the rest of the picnic-party were deep within
the woods, and out of hearing.

“ Believe me, my dear madam - ”

“ I am not your dear madam.”

“ I have no other intention than to get out of this.”

“ Ah ! he confesses it.”

" I assure you - ”

“Will no one protect me?” wailed the lady,
wringing her hands and sobbing anew. But help was
near, though from an unexpected quarter.

“ Hulloa ! ” cried a voice on the bank above,
“ what be all this ? ”

And Peter Dearlove pushed aside the bushes and
descended to the shingle, closely followed by Paul.
He was just in time, for Miss Limpenny, with a thank¬
ful little cry, staggered and fell fainting into his arms.

“ Mercy ’pon us ! ” exclaimed Peter, seeing only
the lady, and not at first the cause of her distress,
“ ’tes Miss Limpenny.”

“ Well, I’m jiggered ! ” ejaculated Paul, “ so ’tes.”

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The Twins bent over the lady, and looked at each
other in dismay. To Mr. Fogo the tableau might
have borne a ridiculous likeness to that scene in
Cymbeline wffiere Guiderius and Arviragus stoop over
the unconscious Imogen. But Mr. Fogo, as he stood
neck-high in water, was far beyond drawing any such
comparison ; and Peter, instead of adjuring Miss Lim-
penny to fear no more the heat o’ the sun, accinged
himself to the practical difficulty.

“ Did 'ee iver hear tell o’ what’s best to be done
when a leddy’s took like this? ” he asked his brother.

“No,” answered Paul; “ Tamsin was niver took
this way. But that there little book us used to study
wffien her had the whoopin’ -cough an’ measles wud
likely tell all about et; I wish 'twas here. Wait a
bit. I remembers the ‘ Instructions for Discoverin’
th’ Appariently Drownded.’ Do ’ee reckon Miss
Limpenny here es ‘ appariently drownded ’ ? ”

“ Why, no.”

“ I don’t think so nuther. Ef she was,” added
Paul regretfully, “ you’d have to be extry partic’lar
not to roll her body 'pon casks. That was a great
p’int.”

“ ’Tes a long step round to fetch that book,” sighed
Peter.

“ An’ terrable long words i’ th’ index when you’ve
got et. Stop, now : es et faintin’, do ’ee think ? ”

“ Well,” answered Paul thoughtfully, “ et mou’t be
faintin’.”

“ ’Cos, ef so, the best way es to hold the sufferer
upsi-down an’ dash cold water over the face.”

“ That wud be takin’ too much of a liberty, wudn’
et, Paul ? ”

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But at this point the blood came trickling back into
Miss Limpenny’s cheeks ; the eyelids fluttered,
opened ; she gasped a little, looked up, and —

“ Is he gone? ” she asked in a weak whisper.

“ Gone? Who, ma’am? ”

“ The monster.”

“ Light-headed yet,” muttered Peter. But fol¬
lowing Miss Limpenny’s stare the brothers caught
sight of Mr. Fogo simultaneously, and for the first
time. Their mahogany faces grew sensibly paler.

“ Well, this beats cock-fightin’ ! ”

“Would you mind taking that lady away?”
pleaded Mr. Fogo, through his chattering teeth;
“ I am very cold indeed, and wish to dress.”

“ Oh ! that voice again,” sobbed Miss Limpenny;
“ please tell him to go away.”

Being nonplussed by these two appeals, Peter
addressed his reply to his brother.

“ I dunno, Paul, as we’ve a-got to the bottom o’
this ; but I reck’n Mr. Fogo’s been a-lettin’ hes prin¬
ciples take ’n too far. As for dislikin’ womankind, 'tes
in a way 'scuseable p’raps ; but notices es wan thing,
an’ teasin’ anuther.”

“ That’s so, Peter. Ef ’tes a matter o’ fash’n, tho’,
I dunno as we’ve any call to interfere, not knawin’
what’s what.”

“ Ef you plaise, sir,” shouted Peter, “ Paul an’ me
wants to know whether you be a-doin’ et by way o’
bein’ fash’nubble? ”

“ I don't know what you mean. I only wish to be
allowed to get at my clothes. I really am suffering
considerably, being quite unused to these long
immersions.”

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Peter looked around and caught sight of the neat
pile of Mr. Fogo’s attire lying underneath the bank.
Light began to dawn on him; he turned to Miss
Lim penny —

“ You’ll excuse me, ma’am, but was you present by
any chance when - ? ”

“ Heaven forbid ! ” she cried, and put her hands
before her face.

“ Then, beggin’ your pard’n, but how did you come
here? ”

“ I was wandering on the bank— and lost in thought
—and came upon these — these articles. And then —
oh ! I cannot, I cannot.”

“ Furder question es,” pursued Peter, with an
interrogative glance at his brother, who nodded,
“ why not ha’ gone away ? ”

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed Miss Limpenny, “ I never
thought of it ! ”

She gathered up her skirts, and disdaining the
assistance of the gallant Paul, clambered up the bank,
and with a formal bow left the Twins staring. As she
remarked tearfully to Lavinia that evening, “ What
one requires in these cases is presence of mind, my
dear,” and she heaved a piteous little sigh.

“ But consider,” urged the sympathetic Lavinia,
“ your feelings at the moment. I am sure that under
similar circumstances ” — she shuddered — I should
have behaved in precisely the same way.”

Mr. Fogo emerged in so benumbed a condition,
his teeth chattered so loudly, and his nose had grown
so appallingly blue, that the Twins, who had in
delicacy at first retired to a little distance, were
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forced to return and help him into his clothes. Even
then, however, he continued to shiver to such an
extent that the pair, after consulting in whispers for
some moments, took off their coats, wrapped him
carefully about, set him in the stem of his boat, and,
jumping in themselves, pushed off and rowed rapidly
homewards.

Their patient endeavoured to express his thanks,
but was gravely desired not to mention it. For ten
minutes or so the Twins rowed in silence, at the end
of this time Paul suddenly dropped the bow oar ; then,
leaning forward, touched his brother on the shoulder
and whispered one word —

“ Shenachrum.”

“ Or Samson,” said Peter.

“ I think poorly o’ Samson.”

“ Wi’ hes hair on ? ”

“ Wi’ or wi’out, I don’t lay no store by Samson.”

“ Very well, then — Shenachrum.”

The rowing was resumed, and Mr. Fogo left to
speculate on these dark sayings. But as the boat
drew near the column of blue smoke that, rising from
the hazels on the left bank, marked the whereabouts
of the Dearloves' cottage, he grew aware of a picture
that, perhaps by mere charm of composition, set his
pulse extravagantly beating.

At the gate above the low cliff, her frock of pink
print distinct against the hazels, stood Tamsin Dear-
love, and looked up the river.

She was bare-headed ; and the level rays of evening
powdered her dark tresses with gold, and touched the
trees behind into bronze. One hand shielded her eyes ;
the other rested on the half-open gate, and swayed

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it softly to and fro upon its hinge. As she stood thus,
some happy touch of opportunity, some trick of cir¬
cumstance or grouping, must, I think, have helped
Mr. Fogo to a conclusion he had been seeking for
weeks. It is certain that though he has since had
abundant opportunities of studying Tamsin, and
noting that untaught grace of body in which many
still find the secret of her charm, to his last day she
will always be for him the woman who stood, this
summer evening, beside the gate and looked up the
river.

And yet, as the boat drew near, the pleasantest
feature in the picture was the smile with which she
welcomed her brothers, though it contained some
wonder to see them in Mr. Fogo’s boat, and gave
place to quick alarm as she remarked the extreme
blueness of that gentleman’s nose and the extreme
pallor of his other features.

" Tamsin, my dear, es the cloth laid? ”

“ Yes, Peter, and the kettle ready to boil.”

“ We was thinkin’ as Shenachrum would be suitin’
Mr. Fogo better. He’ve met wi’ an accident.”

“ Again ? ” There was something of disdain in her
eyes as she curtseyed to him, but it softened imme¬
diately. “ You're kindly welcome, sir,” she added,
“ and the Shenachrum shall be ready in ten minutes.”

Within five minutes Mr. Fogo was seated by the
comer of the hearth, and watching her as she heated
the beer which, together with mm, sugar, and lemon,
forms the drink known and loved by Trojans as
Shenachrum. The Twins had retired to wash in the
little out-house at the back, and their splashing was
audible every now and again above the crackling of
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the wood fire, which now, as before, filled the kitchen
with fragrance. Its warmth struck kindly into Mr.
Fogo’s knees, and coloured Tamsin's cheeks with a hot
red as she bent over the flame. He watched her profile
in thoughtful silence for some moments, and then fell
to staring at the glowing sticks and the shadows of
the pot-hooks and hangers on the chimney-back.

" So that is Shenachrum ? ” he said at last, to break
the silence.

“ Yes.”

“ And what, or who, is Samson ? ”

“ Samson is brandy and cider and sugar.”

“ With his hair on ? ”

She laughed.

“ That means more brandy. Samson was double
as strong, you know, with his hair on.”

“ I see.”

The silence was resumed. Only the tick-tack of
the tall clock and the splashing of the Twins disturbed
it. She turned to glance at him once, and then,
seeing his gaze fixed upon the fire that twinkled on
the rim of his spectacles and emphasised the hollows
of his face, had looked for a moment more boldly before
she bent over her task again.

" She is quite beautiful, but - ”

He spoke in a dreamy abstracted tone, as if ad¬
dressing the pot-hooks. Tamsin started, set down the
pan with a clatter, and turned sharply round.

“Eh?” said Mr. Fogo, aroused by the clatter,

“ you were saying - ? ” And then it struck him

that he had spoken aloud. He broke off, and looked
up with appealing helplessness.

There was a second’s pause.

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“ You were saying— —

The words came as if dragged from her by an effort.
Her eyes wrere full of wrath as she stood above him
and waited for his reply.

“ I am very sorry,” he stammered; “ I never
meant you to hear.”

“You were talking of - ? ”

“ Of you,” he answered simply. He was horribly
frightened ; but it was not in the man’s nature to lie,
or even evade the question.

The straightforwardness of the reply seemed to
buffet her in the face. She put up a hand against the
chimney-piece and caught her breath.

“ What is ‘ but ’ ? ” she asked with a kind of
breathless vehemence. “ Finish your sentence.
What right have you to talk of me ? ” she went on,
as he did not reply. If I am not a lady, what is that
to you ? Oh ! ” she persisted, in answer to the swift
remonstrance on his face, “ I can end your sentence :

‘ She is quite beautiful, but — quite low, of course.’
What right have you to call me either — to speak of
me at all? We were content enough before you
came — Peter and Paul and I. Why cannot you let
us alone? I hate you! Yes, I hope there is no
doubt now that I am low — hate you ! ”

She stamped her foot in passion as two angry tears
sparkled in her eyes.

“ Why, Tamsin ! ” cried Paul’s voice at the door,
“ the Shenachrum not ready yet ? I niver knawed
’ee so long afore.”

She turned sharply, caught up the pan, and stooped
over the fire again. But the glow on her cheeks now
was hotter than any fire could bring.

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“ ’Tes rare stuff, sir,” said the Twin encouragingly,
as Tamsin filled a steaming glass, and handed it,
without a look, to Mr. Fogo. “ Leastways, ’tes
thought a deal of i’ these parts by them as, wi’out
bein’ perlite, es yet reckoned j edges.”

Mr. Fogo took the glass and sipped bravely. The
stuff was so hot that tears sprang to his eyes, but he
gulped it down, nevertheless.

“ An’ now, sir,” began Peter, who had joined the
group, and was looking on approvingly, “ Paul an’
me was considerin’ in the back-kitchen, an’ agreed
that makin’ so bold as to ax ’ee, an’ hopin’ ’twon’t be
thought over free, you must stay the night, seein’
you’ve took this cold, an’ the night air bein’, as es
well known, terrable apt to give ’ee inflammation.”

“ We’d planned,” put in Paul, “ to go down wi’
the boat to Kit's House an’ fetch up your things, and
tell Caleb about et, so’s he shudn’ be decomposed.
An’ Tamsin ’ll tell ’ee there’s a room at your sarvice,
an’ reckoned purty— lookin’ on to the bee-skeps an’
the orchard at the back,” he explained with a meaning
glance at Tamsin, who was silent.

“ Why, Tamsin, girl, what's amiss that you don’t
spake ? ” asked Peter ; and then his amazement got
the better of his tact, as he added in a stage whisper,
“ ’Tes on’y to change rooms. Paul an’ me can aisy
sleep down here afore the fire ; an’ us on’y offered your
room as bein’ more genteel - ”

“ I assure you,” broke in Mr. Fogo, “ that I am
quite recovered of my chill, thanks to your kindness,
and would rather return— much rather : though I
thank you all the same.” He spoke to the Twins, but
kept his eyes on Tamsin.

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“ No kindness at all,” muttered Peter. His face
fell, and he, too, looked at the girl.

Finding their eyes upon her, she was compelled to
speak.

“ Mr. Fogo wudn’ care for the likes o’ what we
cou’d offer him,” she said. Then, seeing the pain on
the men’s faces, she added with an effort to be
gracious, “ But ef he can put up wi’ us, he knows he
shall be made welcome.”

She did not look up, and her voice, in which the
peculiar sing-song of Trojan intonation was inten¬
tionally emphasised, sounded so strangely that
still greater amazement fell upon the Twins.

“ Why, Tamsin, I niver knawed ’ee i’ this mood
afore,” stammered Paul.

“ I assure you,” interposed Mr. Fogo, “ that I value
your hospitality more than I can say, and shall not
forget it. But it would be absurd to accept it when I
am so near home. If one of you would consent to
row me down to Kit’s House, it would be the exact
kindness I should prefer.”

The Twins assented, though not without regret
at his refusal to accept more. Paul agreed to row
him down, and the two started in the early twilight.
As he shook Peter’s hand, Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin.

“ Good-night,” he said.

“ Good-night, sir.”

She did not offer to shake hands ; she scarcely even
looked up, but stood there before the chimney-place,
with the fire-light outlining her form and throwing
into deep shadow the side of her face that was towards
him. One arm was thrown up to grasp the mantel¬
shelf, and against this her head rested. The other

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hung listlessly at her side. And this was the picture
Mr. Fogo carried out into the grey evening.

As the door closed upon him, Peter sank into the
stiff-backed chair beside the hearth with a puzzled
sigh.

“ Why, Tamsin,” he said, as he slowly drew out
his pipe and filled it, “ what ailed 'ee, girl, to behave
like that ? ”

Looking up, he saw a tear, and then a second, drop
brightly on the hearth-stone.

"Little maid!”

Before he could say more she had stepped to him,
and, sitting on the chair-arm, had flung her arms
around his neck and drawn his head towards her,
that he might not look into her face.

“ I hate him,” she sobbed—" I hate him ! I wash
I had never seen him. He despises us, and — and I
was so happy before he came.”

The Twin set down his pipe upon his knee, and
stared into the fire.

“ As for hatin’, Tamsin,” he said gravely, “ ’tain’t
right. Us shud love our neighbours, Scriptur’ says ;
an’ I reckon that includes tenants. I’ the matter o’
hes despisin’ us, I dunno as you’m right nuther.
He’s fash’nubble, o’ cou’se; but very conformable,
considerin’ — very conformable. You bain’t sorry us
let Kit’s House, eh, Tamsin? Not hankerin’ - ”

“ No, no.”

“ I doubt, my dear, we’m poor hands to take care
of ’ee, Paul an’ me. Us talks et over togither at
times, an’ agrees ’twas wrong not to ha’ sent ’ee away
to school. Us got a whack o’ handbills down, wan
time, from different places. You wudn’ believe et,

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my dear,” he went on, with something like a laugh,
“ but Paul an’ me a’most came to words over they
handbills. ’Tes a curious fac’, but at the places
where they allowed most holidays, they was most
partic’lar about takin’ your own spoon and fork, an’
Paul was a stickler agen that. Et grew to be a matter
o’ prenciple wi’ Paul that wheriver you went you
shudn’ take your own spoon and fork. So us niver
came to no understandin’. I doubt ’twas selfish an’
us can't understand maidens an’ their ways ; but say,
my dear, ef there’s anything can be set right, an’ us
’ll try - ”

“ No, no. Let me sit here beside you, and I shall
be better presently.”

She drew a low stool to his side, and sat with her
head against his knee, and her dark eyes watching
the fire. Peter laid one hand gently on her hair, and
wound the brown locks around his fingers.

“ All right now ? ” he asked, after several minutes
had passed with no sound but the ticking of the
clock.

“ All right beside you, brother. It is always all
right beside you.”

169

CHAPTER XV

HOW A LADY AND A YOUTH, BEING SEPARATED FROM
THEIR COMPANY, VISITED A SHIP THAT HELD
NOTHING BUT WATER

Mr. Fogo and Paul performed the journey back to
Kit’s House in silence; for Paul was yet wondering
at his sister’s behaviour, and Mr. Fogo busy with
thoughts he could hardly have interpreted. As they
drew near the little quay, they discerned through the
darkness, now fast creeping over the river, a boat
pushed off by a solitary figure that jumped aboard and
began to pull towards them.

“ Ahoy, there ! ” It was Caleb’s voice.

“ Ahoy, Caleb ! ” shouted Paul in answer; “ any¬
thing wrong? ”

“ Have ’ee seen maaster? ”

“ Iss, an’ got un safe an’ sound.”

Caleb peered through the gloom and descried Mr.
Fogo. Whatever relief this may have been to his
feelings, it called forth no expression beyond a grunt.
He turned his boat and pulled back in time to help his
master ashore. Paul was dismissed with some words
of thanks which he declared unnecessary. He would
row back in Mr. Fogo’s boat, he said, if he might be
allowed, and would bring her down in the early morn¬
ing. With this and a hearty “ Good-night ” he left
the pair to walk up to the house together.

Caleb was unusually silent during supper, and when

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his master grew cheery and related the adventures of
the day, offered no comment beyond a series of
mysterious sounds expressing mental discontent
rather than sympathy. Finally, when Mr. Fogo
had finished he looked up and began abruptly —

" Ef you plaise, sir, I wants to gie warnin’.”

“ Give warning ? ”

“ Iss, sir; notiss to go.” And Caleb stared fiercely
at his master.

“ But, my dear Caleb, you surely don’t mean - ? ”

“ I do, tho’.”

“ Are you dissatisfied with the place or the wages ? ”

“ That’s et, sir — the wages.”

“ If they are too low - ”

“ They bain’t; they be a darned sight too high.”

Mr. Fogo leant back in his chair.

“ Too high ! ” he gasped.

“ Look ’ee here, sir : here be I, so lazy as La’rence,
an’ eatin’ my head off 'pon a pund a week an’ my
small-clothes, on condishun I looks arter 'ee. Very
well ; what happens ? ’Tes Dearlove, Dearlove,
Dearlove all the time. Fust Tamsin brings ’ee back,
and then Paul, an’ nex’ time I reckon ’twill be Peter’s
turn. Wher e-/ore, sir, seein’ I can’t offer to share
wages wi’ the Twins, much less wi’ Tamsin, I wants to
go-”

Caleb knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and, rising,
stared at his master for some seconds and with much
determination.

Mr. Fogo argued the case for some time without
effect. But so sincerely did he paint his helplessness,
and nervous aversion to new faces, that at length,
after many pros and cons, Caleb consented to7give

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him one more chance. “ But mind, sir,” he added,

“ the nex’ time you’m brought home by a Dearlove,

‘ go ’ 's the word.” On this understanding they
retired to rest, but it was long before Mr. Fogo could
shut his memory upon the panorama of the day’s
experiences.

Let us return to the picnickers. After what had
passed between Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys and Mr.
Moggridge on the river’s bank, it may seem strange
that the lady should have chosen Sam Buzza to row
her home, for the two youths were now declared rivals
for her goodwill. But I think we may credit her with
a purpose.

At any rate, when the lengthening shadows and
retreating tide hinted return, Sam, who had arrived
late in a designedly small dingey, asked Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys to accompany him, and she, with little demur,
complied. It did not matter greatly, as propriety
would be saved by their nearness to the larger boats ;
and so the party started together.

But this arrangement, though excellent, did not
last long ; for, curiously enough, the dingey soon began
to take a formidable lead of the next boat, in which
the traitorous Moggridge was pulling stroke, and
gazing, with what courage he could summon, into
Sophia’s eyes. Indeed, so quickly was the lead
increased, that at the end of two miles the larger
boats had shrunk to mere spots in the distance.

The declining sun shone in Sam’s eyes as he rowed,
and his companion, with her sunshade so disposed as
to throw her face into shadow, observed him in calm
silence. The sunshade was of scarlet silk, and in the
softened light stealing through it her cheek gained all

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the freshness of maidenhood. Her white gown,
gathered about the waist with a band of scarlet,
not only fitted her figure to perfection, but threw up
the colour of her skin into glowing relief. To Sam she
appeared a miracle of coolness and warmth; and as
yet no word was spoken.

At length, and not until they had passed the Dear-
loves' cottage, she asked—

“ Why were you late ? ”

“ Was I missed? "

“ Of course. You younger men of Troy seem
strangely blind to your duties — and your chances.”

The last three words came as if by after-thought ;
Sam looked up quickly.

‘‘Chances? You said ‘chances,’ I believe?”

“ I did. Was there not Miss Saunders, for instance ?”

Sam’s lip curled.

“ Miss Saunders is not a chance; she is a certainty.
Did she, for instance, announce that the beauty of
the day made her sad — that even amid the wealth of
summer something inside her whispered ‘ Autumn ’ ? ”

“ She did.”

“ She always does ; I have never picnicked with
Miss Saunders but something inside her whispered
‘ Autumn ’ ! ”

“ A small bore,” suggested Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,
“ that never misses fire.”

Sam tittered and resumed —

‘‘If it comes to duties, your husband sets the
example; he hasn’t moved from the club window to¬
day.”

“ Oh ! ” she exclaimed shortly, “ I never asked you
to imitate my husband.”

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Sam ceased rowing and looked up ; he was familiar
with the tone, but had never heard it so emphasised
before.

“ Look here,” he said ; “ something’s wrong, that’s
plain. It’s a rude question, but — does he neglect
you ? ”

She laughed with some bitterness, and perhaps with
a touch of self-contempt.

“ You are right ; it is a rude question : but — he does
not.”

There was a moment’s silence, and then she added —

“ So it’s useless, is it not, to wish that he would ? ”

The blood about Sam’s heart stood still. Were
the words a confession or a sneer. Did they refer to
her or to him ? He would have given worlds to know,
but her tone disclosed nothing.

“ You mean - ? ”

She gave him no answer, but turned her head to
look back. In the distant boats they had fallen to
singing glees. In this they obeyed tradition : for
there is one accomplishment which all Trojans pos¬
sess — of fitting impromptu harmonies to the most
difficult air. And still in the pauses of the music Miss
Limpenny would exclaim —

“ Did you ever see anything more lovely ? ”

And the Admiral would reply —

“ Really, I never did.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys could not, of course, hear
this. But the voices of the singers stole down the
river and touched her, it may be, with some sense of
remorse for the part she was playing in this Arcadia.

“We are leaving the others a long way behind,”
she said irresolutely.

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“ Do you wish to wait for them? ”

For a moment she seemed about to answer, but did
aot. Sam pulled a dozen vigorous strokes, and the
boat shot into the reach opposite Kit’s House.

“ That,” she said, resting her eyes on the weather-
stained front of Mr. Fogo’s dwelling, “ is where the
hermit lives, is it not ? I should like to meet this
man that hates all women.”

Sam essayed a gallant speech, but she paid no heed
to it.

“ What a charming creek that is, beyond the house !
Let us row up there and wait for the others.”

The creek was wrapped in the first quiet of evening.
There was still enough tide to mirror the tall trees
that bent towards it, and reflect with a grey gleam one
gable of the house behind. Two or three boats lay
quietly here by their moorings; beside them rested
a huge red buoy, and an anchor protruding one rusty
tooth above the water. Where the sad-looking
shingle ended, a few long timbers rotted in the ooze.
Nothing in this haunted corner spoke of life, unless
it were the midges that danced and wheeled over the
wa veless tide.

“ Yonder lies the lepers’ burial-ground,” said Sam,
and pointed.

“ I have heard of them ” (she shivered) ; “ and
that? ”

She nodded towards the saddest ruin in this sad
spot, the hull of what was once a queenly schooner,
now slowly rotting to annihilation beside the further
shore. She lay helplessly canted to starboard, her
head pointing up the creek. Her timbers had started,
her sides were coated with green weed; her rudder,

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wrenched from its pintle, lay hopelessly askew. On
her stern could still be read, in blistered paint, her
name, “ The Seven Sisters of Troy.” There she lay
dismantled, with a tangle of useless rigging, not fi:
for saving, left to dangle from her bulwarks; and a
quick fancy might liken her, as the tide left her, and
the water in her hold gushed out through a dozen
gaping seams, to some noble animal that had crept to
this corner to bleed to death.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys looked towards the wreck
with curious interest.

“ I should like to examine it more closely,” she
said.

For answer Sam pulled round the schooner, and
let the boat drift under her overhanging side.

“ You can climb aboard if you like,” he said, as he
shipped the sculls and, standing up, grasped the
schooner’s bulwarks. “ Stop, let me make the painter
fast.”

He took up the rope, swung himself aboard, and
looped it round the stump of a broken davit ; then
bent down and gave a hand to his companion. She
was agile, and the step was of no great height; but
Sam had to take both her hands before she stood
beside him, and ah ! but his heart beat cruelly quick.

Once on board Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys displayed the
most eager inquisitiveness, almost endangering her
beautiful neck as she peered down into the hole where
the water lay, black and gloomy. She turned and
walked aft with her feet in the scuppers, and her
right hand pressed against the deck, so great was the
cant on the vessel. It was uphill walking too, for
the schooner was sagged in the waist, and the stem

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tilted up to a considerable height. Nevertheless she
reached the poop at last. Sam followed.

“ I want to see the captain's cabin,” she explained.

Sam wondered, but led the way. It was no easy
matter to descend the crazy ladder, and in the cabin
itself the light was so dim that he struck a match.
Its flare revealed a broken table, a horsehair couch,
and a row of cupboards along the walls. On the
port side these had mostly fallen open, and the doors
in some cases hung by a single hinge. There was a
terrible smell in the place. Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
looked around.

“ Does the water ever come up here ? ” she asked.

Sam lit another match.

“ No,” he said, stooping and examining the floor.

“You are quite sure? ”

Her tone was so eager that he looked up.

“ Yes, I am quite sure; but why do you ask? ”

She did not answer : nor, in the faint light, could
he see her face. After a moment’s silence she said,
as if to herself —

“ This is just the place.”

“ For what ? ”

“ For — for an Irish jig,” she laughed with sudden
merriment. “ Come, try a step upon these old
timbers.”

“ For heaven’s sake take care ! ” cried Sam.
“ There may be a trap-hatch where you stand, and
these boards are rotten through and through. Ten
minutes ago you were mournful,” he added, in wonder
at her change of mood.

“ Was I ? ” She broke out suddenly into elfish

song-

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“ ‘ Och ! Pathrick O’Hea, but I'm sad,

Bedad !

Och ! darlint, 'tis bad to be sad.’

' Hwat’s this ? ’ says he.

* Why, a kiss,' says she.

‘ ‘Tis a cure,’ says he.

‘ An’ that's sure,' says she.

‘Och ! Pat, you're a sinsible lad,

Bedad !

Troth, Pat, you’re a joole uv a lad ! ’ ”

She broke off suddenly and shivered.

“ Come, let us go; this place suffocates me.”

She turned and ran up the crazy ladder. At the
top she turned and peered down upon the dumb¬
founded Sam.

" Nobody comes here, I suppose? ”

“ I should think not.”

“ I mean, the owner never comes to - ”

“To visit his cargo?” laughed Sam. “No, the
owner is dead. He was a wicked old miser, and I
guess in the place where he is now he’d give a deal for
the water in this ship; but I never heard he was
allowed to come back for it.”

She leant her hands on the taffrail, and looked over
the stern.

“ Hark ! There are the other boats. Don’t you
hear the voices? They have passed us by, and we
must make haste after them.”

She turned upon him with a smile. Without well
knowing what he did he laid his hand softly on her arm.

“ Stop, I want a word before you go.”

“Well?”

Her large eyes, gleaming on him through the dusk,
compelled and yet frightened him. He trembled and
stammered vaguely —

“ You said just now — you hinted, I mean — that

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you were unhappy with Mr. - with your husband.

Is that so ? ”

It was the second time she had been asked the
question to-day. A faint smile crossed her face.

“ Well ? ” she said again.

“ I mean,” he answered with a nervous laugh,
" I don’t like to see it — and — I meant, if I could help
you ”

“To run away ? Will you help me to run away ? ”
Her eyes suddenly blazed upon him, and as she bent
forward, and almost hissed the words, he involuntarily
drew back a step.

“ Well,” he stammered, “ he’s a good fellow, really,
is your husband — he’s been very good to me and all
that - ”

“ Ah ! ” she exclaimed, turning away, “ I thought
so. Come, we are wasting time.”

“ Stop ! ” cried Sam.

But she had passed swiftly down the sloping deck
and dropped into the boat without his assistance.
He followed unsteadily, untied the painter, and jumped
down after her. They rowed for some time in silence
after the retreating picnickers. Before they came
abreast of the hindmost boat, however, Sam spoke —

“ Look here. I can’t help myself, and that’s the
truth. If you want to run away I’ll help you.” He
groaned inwardly as he said it.

She made no reply, but kept her eyes fixed on his
face, as if weighing his words. Nor, beyond a cool
“ Good-night ” at parting on the quay, did another
word pass between them.

******

“ What luck? ” asked the Honourable Frederic as
his wife entered the drawing-room of “ The Bower.”

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He was stretched in an arm-chair before the fire, and
turned with a glance of some anxiety at her entrance.

She looked about her wearily, took off her hat,
tossed it across to a table, and, sinking into the arm¬
chair opposite, began to draw off her gloves.

“ I’m sick to death of all this, me dear — of ‘ the
Cause,’ of Brady, of these people, of meself.”

Her face wore a grey look that made her seem a full
ten years older.

“ Won’t you include me in the list, my love ? ”
asked her husband amiably.

“ I would,” she replied, “ only I’ve already said
as much twice this very afternoon.”

She laughed a fatigued little laugh, and looked
around her again. The drawing-room had greatly
changed since first we visited it with Admiral
Buzza, and the local tradesmen regarded Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys’ account with some complacency as they
thought of payment after Midsummer. For the
strangers were not of the class that goes to the
Metropolis or to the Co-operative Stores; from the
outset they had announced a warm desire to benefit
the town of Troy. This pretty drawing-room was
one of the results, and it only wanted a certain number
of cheques from the Honourable Frederic to make
the excellence of the arrangement complete.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys took a leisurely survey of
the room while her husband awaited information.

“ The pote is hooked,” she said at last, “ an’ so’s
Master Sam.”

“ The poet is our first card,” replied her husband,
searching his pocket and producing a letter. “ The
Maryland should be here to-morrow or next day.

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Upon my word, Nellie, I don’t want to ask questions,
but you’ve done exceedingly well.”

“ Better than well, me dear. I’ve found a place — an
illigant hidin’ in an owld schooner up the river.”

“ Safe? ”

“ As a church. I’ll take yez to’t to-morra. Master
Sam tells me sorra a sowl goes nigh ut. He tuk me
to see ut. I say, me darlint, I’d be lettin’ that young
fool down aisier than the pote. He’s a poor little
snob, but he’s more like a man than Moggridge.”

“ He’s a bad ass, is Moggridge,” assented the
Honourable Frederic. “ Come, Nellie, we’ve a day’s
work before us, remember.”

A friend of mine, the son of steady-going Nihilist
parents, and therefore an authority, assures me that
the Honourable Frederic cannot have been a conspir¬
ator for the simple reason that he shaved his chin
regularly. Be this as it may, to-night he smiled
mysteriously as he rose, and winked at his wife in a
most plebeian way. I regret to say that both smile
and wink were returned.

CHAPTER XVI

OF STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS; AND THAT THE NOMIN¬
ALISTS ERR WHO HOLD A THING TO BE WHAT IT
IS CALLED

At two o’clock next morning Mr. Moggridge closed
the door of his lodgings behind him, and stepping
out into the street stood for some moments to ponder.

A smile sat upon his lips, witness to pleasure that
underlies poetic pains. The Collector of Customs
was in humour this morning, and had written thirty
lines of Act IV. of Love’s Dilemma : a Comedy, before
breakfast, for it was his custom to rise early and drink
regularly of the waters of Helicon before seeking his
office. It is curious that the Civil Sendee should
so often divide its claims with the Sendee of the
Muse. I remember that the Honourable Frederic
once drew my attention to this, and supplied me
with several instances : — “ There was What’s-his-
name, you know, and t’other Johnny up in the Lakes,
and a heap I can’t remember at the moment— fancy
it must come from the stamps — licked off with the
gum, perhaps.”

Be that as it may, Mr. Moggridge had written
thirty lines this morning, and was even now, as he
stood in the street and stared at the opposite house,
repeating to himself a song he had just composed
for his hero. It is worth quoting, for, with slight
alteration, I know no better clue to the poet’s mood
at the time. The play has since been destroyed,

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for reasons of which some hint may be found in the
next few chapters ; but the unfinished song is still
preserved among the author’s notes, where it is
headed —

A HYMN OF LOVE

“ Toiling lover, loose your pack,

All your sighs and tears unbind ;

Care's a ware may break a back,

May not bend a maiden’s mind.

“ Loose, and follow to a land
Where the tyrant’s only fee
Is the kissing of a hand
And the bending of a knee.

“ In that State a man shall need
Neither priest nor lawgiver :

Those same slips that are his creed
Shall confess their worshipper.

“ All the laws he must obey,

Now in force and now repealed.

Shift in eyes that shift as they —

“ ' Shift as they,’ ‘ shift as they,’ ” mused Mr.
Moggridge. “ Let me see —

‘Till alike with kisses sealed.’

That was it. With another verse, and a little polish¬
ing, I will take it to Geraldine and ask her - ”

At this point the poet glanced down the street,
and, to his surprise, beheld Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
advancing towards him.

“ Good-morning,” she nodded with a charming
smile, “ I was coming to look for you. I have a
favour to ask.”

" A favour ? Is it the - ? ”

“ Well, it’s rather prosaic for the - ” she laughed.

“ In fact, it’s tea”

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“Tea? ”

*■ Yes. It’s rather a long story ; but it comes to
this. You see, Fred is very particular about the
tea he drinks.”

“ Indeed? ”

“ It’s a fact, I assure you. Well, when we were
travelling in the states, Fred happened to come across
some tea he liked particularly, at Chicago. And the
funny thing about this tea is that it is compressed.
It is called ‘ Wapshotts’ Patent Compressed Tea ; ’
now I daresay,” added Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
demurely, “ that you wouldn’t think it possible
for compressed tea to be good.”

“ To tell you the truth,” said Mr. Moggridge, “ I
have never given the subject a thought.”

“ No, of course ; being a poet, you wouldn’t.
But it’s very good, all the same : you buy it in cakes,
and have to be very particular that ‘ Wapshott and
Sons ' is written on each cake : of course it isn’t
really written - ”

“ Of course not; but you’ll excuse me if I don’t
yet see - •”

“ To be sure you don’t until I have explained.
Well, you see, men are so particular about what
they eat and drink, and are always thinking about
it — I don’t mean poets, of course. I suppose
you, for instance, only think about gossamer and
things.”

“ I don’t know that I tliink much about gossamer,”
said Mr. Moggridge.

“ Well, moonbeams, then. But Fred is different.
Ever since he left Chicago he has been talking about
that tea. I wonder you never heard him.”

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“ I have not, to my knowledge.”

“ No? Well, at last, finding it couldn’t be bought
in England, he sent across for a chest. We had the
invoice a few days ago, and here it is.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys produced a scrap of paper,
and went on —

‘‘You see, it’s coming in a ship called the Maryland,
and ought to be here about this time. Well, Fred
was looking through his telescope before breakfast
this morning — he’s always looking through a telescope
now, and knows, I believe, every rig of every vessel in
the world — when he calls out, ‘ Hullo ! American
barque ! ’ in his short way. Of course, I didn’t
know at first what he meant, and mixed it up with that
stuff — Peruvian bark, isn’t it ? — that you give to
your child, if you have one, and do not let it untimely
die, or something of the sort. But afterwards he
shouted, ‘ I shouldn’t wonder if she’s the Maryland ; ’
and then I understood, and it struck me that it would
be so nice to come to you and pay the ‘ duty,' or
whatever you call it, on the tea, and at the same time,
if you were very good, you would take me over the
ship with you, and show me how you did your work.
It’s very complicated, I daresay : but I'll be quiet
as a mouse, and won’t interrupt you at all.”

She paused for breath. The Collector smiled,
and handed back the invoice.

“ It seems all right,” he said. “ Let us hurry to
the Custom House. An hour in your company,
Geraldine, will transfigure even the dull round of
duty.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys smiled back divinely. She
thought it extremely probable.

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A few minutes later the poet sat by Geraldine’s
side — sweet proximity ! — in the stem of one of Her
Majesty’s boats, while two “ minions,” as he was
wont in verse to term his subordinates, rowed them
towards a shapely barque that had just dropped
anchor not far from the Bower Slip.

She flew a yellow flag in sign that she hailed from
a foreign port, and as the Customs’ boat dropped under
her quarter Mr. Moggridge shouted —

“ Maryland, ahoy ! ”

“ Ahoy ! ” answered a gruff voice, and a red face
looked over the side.

“ Captain ? ” inquired Mr. Moggridge.

“ That’s me — Uriah T. Potter, Cap’n. Customs,
I guess,” said the red-faced man, with a slow look
at Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.

“ Clean bill of health ? ”

“ Waal, two fo’c’s’le hands down with whoopin’-
cough : take it you won’t keep us in quarantine
for that.”

The Collector helped Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys up
the ship’s side. As she alighted on deck a swift
glance passed between her and the red-faced man.
Quite casually she laid two fingers on her chin.
Uriah T. Potter did the same ; but Mr. Moggridge
was giving some instructions to his minions at the
moment, and did not notice it.

“ Anything to declare? ” he asked.

“ Mainly corn aboard, an’ tinned fruits for Port
o’ London. Reas’nable deal o’ tea an’ ’baccy, though,
for you to seal — shipped for same place. By the
way, chest o’ tea for party living hereabouts —
Goodwyn-Sandys, friend of owner — guess that’s the

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reason for putting in at this one-hoss place,” wound up
Uriah T. Potter, with a depreciatory glance at the
beauties of Troy.

“ This is Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,” said the Collector.

“ Proud to make your 'cquaintance, marm.”
The Captain held out Ills hand to the lady, who shook
it affably.

“ Let’s see the cargo,” said Mr. Moggridge.

The Captain led the way and they descended;
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys full of pretty wonder at the
arrangements of the ship, and slipping her fingers
timidly into the Collector’s hand on the dark com¬
panion stairs. He seized and raised them to his lips.

“ Oh, you poets ! ” expostulated she.

" Where the tyrant’s only fee,"
murmured Mr. Moggridge.

“ Is the kissing of a hand.”

" What, more verses? You shall repeat them
to me.”

I am afraid that in the obscurity below, Mr. Mog¬
gridge inspected the weighing of ship’s stores and
sealing of excisable goods in a very perfunctory
manner. There were so many dim corners and
passages where Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys needed guid¬
ance; and, after all, the minions were sufficient for
the work. They rummaged here and there among
casks and chests, weighing, counting, and sealing,
whilst the red-faced Uriah stood over them and
occasionally looked from the Collector to the lady
with a slow grin of growing intelligence.

They were seated together on a cask, and Mr

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Moggridge had possessed himself, for the twentieth
time, of his companion’s hand.

“You think the verses obscure ? ” he was whisper¬
ing. “ Ah ! Geraldine, if I could only speak out
from the heart ! As it is, ‘ Euphelia serves to grace
my measure ! ’ ”

"Who’s she?” asked Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,
whose slight acquaintance with other poets was,
perhaps, the reason why she rated her companion’s
verse so highly.

“ ‘ The merchant, to conceal his treasure.

Conveys it in a borrowed name,’ ”

Mr. Moggridge began to quote. — “ Wiry, Geraldine,
what is the matter ? Are you faint ? ”

" No; it is nothing.”

“ I thought you seemed pale. As’I was' saying —

‘ The merchant, to conceal his treasure - ’ ”

“ Yes, yes, I know,” said she, rising abruptly. “ It
is very hot and close down here.”

“ Then you were faint ? ”

“ Here’s your chest, marm,” called the voice of
Uriah T. Potter.

She turned and walked towards it. It was a large,
square packing-case, and bore the legends —

"WAPSHOTT AND SONS’,

CHICAGO,

PATENT COMPRESSED TEA,

TEN PRIZE MEDALS"—

stamped here and there about it.

“ I suppose,” she said, turning to Mr. Moggridge,

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Troy Town

“ I can have it weighed here, and pay you the duty,
and then Captain Potter can send it straight to
‘ The Bower ’ ? ”

“ Certainly,” said Mr. Moggridge ; “ we won’t
be long opening it, and then - ”

“ Opening it ! ”

“ Why, yes ; as a matter of form, you know.
It won’t take a minute.”

“ But how foolish,” said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,
“ when you know very well by the invoice that it’s
tea ! ”

“ Oh, of course it’s foolish : only it's the rule, you
understand, before allowing goods to be landed.”

“ But I don’t understand. It is tea, and I am ready
to pay the duty. I never thought you would be so
unreasonable.”

“ Geraldine ! ”

At the utterance of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys’ Christian
name the two minions turned aside to conceal their
smiles. The red-faced man’s appreciation even led
him to dive behind the packing-case. The Collector
pulled himself up and looked confused.

“ It was so small a thing I asked,” said she, almost
to herself, and with a heart-rending break in her voice,
“ so small a test ! ” And with a sigh she half-
turned to go.

The Collector’s hand arrested her.

“ Do you mean - ? ”

She looked at him with reproach in her eyes.
“ Let me pass,” said she, and seeing the conflict
between love and duty on his face, “ So small a
test ! ”

“ Damn the tea ! ” said Mr. Moggridge.

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“I am feeling so faint,” said Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys.

“ Let me lead you up to the fresh air.”

"No; go and open the tea.”

“ I am not going to open it.”

“ Do ! ”

“ I won’t. Here, Sam,” he called to one of the
minions, “ put down that chisel and weigh the chest
at once. You needn’t open it. Come, don’t stand
staring, but look alive. I know what’s inside.
Are you satisfied? ” he added, bending over her.

“ It frightened me so,” she answered, looking up
with swimming eyes. “ And I thought — I was
planning it so nicely. Take me up on deck, please.”

“ Come, be careful o’ that chest,” said Captain
Uriah T. Potter to the minions, as they moved it
up to be weighed.

“ Heaviest tea that iver I handled,” groaned the
first minion.

“ All the more duty for you sharks. O’ course it’s
heavy, being compressed : an’ strong, too. Guess
you don’t oft’n get tea o’ this strength in your country,
anyway. Give a man two pinches o’ Wapshott’s
best, properly cooked, an’ I reckon it’ll last him.
You won’t find him coming to complain.”

“ No? ”

“ No. Blit I ain’t sayin’ nuthin’,” added Captain
Potter, “ about his widder.”

And his smile, as he regarded his hearers, was both
engaging and expansive.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW ONE THAT WAS DISSATISFIED WITH HIS PAST SAW
A VISION, BUT DOUBTED

Caleb Trotter watched his master’s behaviour
during the next few days with a growing impatience.

“ I reckon,” he said, “ 'tes wi’ love, as Sally Bennett
said when her old man got cotched i’ the dreshin'-
machine, ‘ you’m in, my dear, an’ you may so well go
dro’.' ”

Nevertheless, he would look up from his work
at times with anxiety.

“ Forty-sax. That’s the forty-saxth time he’ve
a-trotted up that blessed beach an’ back; an’ five
times he’ve a-pulled up to stare at the watter. I’ve
a-kep’ count wi’ these bits o’ chip. An’ at night ’tes
all round the house, like Aaron’s dresser, wi’ a face,
too, like as ef he’d a-lost a shillin’ an’ found a thrup-
peny-bit. This ’ere pussivantin’ 1 may be relievin’
to the mind, but I’m darned ef et can be good for
shoe-leather. ’Tes the wear an’ tear, that’s what
’tes, as Aunt Lovey said arter killin’ her boy wi’
whackin’.”

The fact is that Mr. Fogo was solving his problem,

1 I cannot forbear to add a note on this eminently Trojan
word. In the fifteenth century, so high was the spirit of
the Trojan sea-captains, and so heavy the toll of black-mail
they levied on ships of other ports, that King Edward IV
sent poursuivant after poursuivant to threaten his displeasure.
The messengers had their ears slit for their pains; and
“ poursuivanting ” or “ pussivanting ” survives as a term for
ineffective bustle.

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though the process was painful enough. He was
concerned, too, for Caleb, whose rest was often broken
by his master’s restlessness. In consequence he
determined to fit up a room for his own use. Caleb
opposed the scheme at first; but, finding that the
business of changing diverted Mr. Fogo’s melancholy,
gave way at last, on a promise that “ no May-games ”
should be indulged in — a festival term which was
found to include somnambulism, suicide, and smoking
in bed.

The room chosen lay on the upper storey at the
extreme east of the house, and looked out, between two
tall elms, upon the creek and the lepers’ burial-
ground. It was chosen as being directly over the
room occupied by Caleb, so that, by stamping his
foot, Mr. Fogo could summon Ins servant at any time.
The floor was bare of carpet, and the chamber of
decoration. But Mr. Fogo hated decoration, and,
after slinging his hammock and pushing the window
open for air, gazed around on the blistered ceiling
and tattered wall-paper, rubbed his hands, and
announced that he should be very comfortable.

" Well, sir,” said Caleb, as he turned to leave him
for the night, “ arter all, comfort’s a matter o’ com¬
parison, as St. La’rence said when he turned round
'pon the gridiron. But the room’s clane as watter
an’ scourin’ ’ll make et — reminds me,” he continued,
with a glance round, “ o’ what the contented clerk
said by hes office-stool : ‘ Chairs es good,' said he,
' and sofies es better ; but ’tes a great thing to harbour
no dust.’ Any orders, sir? ”

“ No, I fancy — stop ! Is my writing-case here ? ”
Caleb’s anxiety took alarm.

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* You bain’t a -goin’ to do et in writin’ sir, surely ! ”
Mr. Fogo stared.

" Don’t 'ee, sir — don’t ’ee ! ”

“ Really, Caleb, your behaviour is most extra¬
ordinary. What is it that I am not to do ? ”

" Why, put et in writin’, sir : they don’t like et.
Go up an’ ax her like a man — ' Will ’ee ha’ me ?
Iss or no? ’ That was ould Dick Jago’s way, an’
I reckon he knowed, havin’ married sax wifes, wan

time an’ another. But as for pen and ink - ”

“ You mistake me,” interrupted Mr. Fogo, with
a painful flush. He paused irresolutely, and then
added, in a softer tone, “ Would you mind taking a
seat in the window here, Caleb ? I have something
to say to you.”

Caleb obeyed. For a moment or two there was
silence as Mr. Fogo stood up before his servant.
The light of the candle on the chest beside him but
half revealed his face. When at last he spoke it was
in a heavy, mechanical tone.

"You guessed once,” he said, " and rightly, that
a woman was the cause of my seclusion in this place.
In such companionship as ours, it would have been
difficult — even had I wished it — to keep up the
ordinary relations of master and man; and more
than once you have had opportunities of satisfying
whatever curiosity you may have felt about my — my
past. Believe me, Caleb, I have noted your forbear¬
ance, and thank you for it.”

Caleb moved uneasily, but was silent.

" But my life has been too lonely for me,” pursued
his master wearily. " On general grounds one would
not imagine the life of a successful hermit to demand
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any rare qualifications. It is humiliating, but even
as a hermit I am a failure : for instance, you see,
I want to talk.”

His hearer, though puzzled by the words, vaguely
understood the smile of self-contempt with which
they were closed.

" As a woman-hater, too, my performances are
beneath contempt. I did think,” said Mr. Fogo with
something of testiness in his voice, “ I should prove
an adequate woman-hater, whereas it happens - ■*'

He broke off suddenly, and took a turn or two up
and down the room. Caleb could have finished the
sentence for him, but refrained.

“ Surely,” said Mr. Fogo, pausing suddenly in
his walk, “ surely the conditions were favourable
enough. Listen. It is not so very long ago since I
possessed ambitions — hopes; hopes that I hugged
to myself as only a silent man may. With them I
meant to move the world, so far as a writer can move
the world (which I daresay may be quite an inch).
These hopes I put in the keeping of the woman I loved.
Can you foresee the rest ? ”

Caleb fumbled in his pocket for his pipe, found it,
held it up between finger and thumb, and, looking
along the stem, nodded.

“ We were engaged to be married. Two days before
the day fixed for our wedding she — she came to me
(knowing me, I suppose, to be a mild man) and told
me she was married — had been married for a week or
more, to a man I had never seen — a Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys. Hallo ! is it broken? ”

For the pipe had dropped from Caleb’s fingers
and lay in pieces upon the floor.

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“ Quite so,” he went on in answer to the white
face confronting him, “ I know it. She is at this
moment living in Troy with her husband. I had
understood they were in America; but the finger of
fate is in every pie.”

Caleb drew out a large handkerchief, and, mopping
his brow, gasped —

“ Well, of all - ” And then broke off to add

feebly, " Here’s a coincidence ! — as Bill said when
he was hanged ’pon his birthday.”

“ I have not met her yet, and until now have avoided
the chance. But now I am curious to see her - ”

“ Don’t ’ee, sir.”

“ And to-night intended writing.”

“ Don’t ’ee, sir; don’t ’ee.”

" To ask for an interview, Caleb,” pursued Mr.
Fogo, drawing himself up suddenly, while his eyes
fairly gleamed behind his spectacles. “ Here I am
my past wrecked and all its cargo of ambitions
scattered on the sands, and yet — and yet I feel to¬
night that I could thank that woman. Do you
understand ? ”

" I reckon I do,” said Caleb, rising heavily and
making for the door.

He stopped with his hand on the door, and turning,
observed his master for a minute or so without remark.
At last he said abruptly —

" Pleasant dreams to ’ee, sir : an’ two knacks
pon the floor ef I be wanted. Good-night, sir.”
And with this he was gone.

Mr. Fogo stood for some moments listening to his
footsteps as they shuffled down the stairs. Then with
a sigh he turned to his writing-case, pulled a straw-
H 2 195

0

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bottomed chair before the rickety table, and sat for a
while, pen in hand, pondering.

Before he had finished, his candle was low in its
socket, and the floor around him littered with scraps
of torn paper. He sealed the envelope, blew out
the candle, and stepped to the window'.

“ I wonder if she has changed," he said to himself.

Outside, the summer moon had risen above the
hill facing him, and the near half of the creek was
ablaze with silver. The old schooner still lay in
shadow, but the water rushing from her hold kept
a perpetual music. Other sounds there w'ere none
but the soft rustling of the swallows in the eaves
overhead, the sucking of the tide upon the beach
below, and the whisper of night among the elms. The
air was heavy with the fragrance of climbing roses
and all the scents of the garden. In such an hour
Nature is half sad and wholly tender.

Mr. Fogo lit a pipe, and, watching its fumes as
they curled out upon the laden night, fell into a kingly
melancholy. He dwelt on his past, but without
resentment; on Tamsin, but with less trouble of
heart. After all, what did it matter? Mr. Fogo,
leaning forward on the window-seat, came to a con¬
clusion to which others have been led before him—
that life is a small thing. Oddly enough, this dis¬
covery, though it belittled his fellowmen considerably,
did not belittle the thinker at all, or rather affected
him with a very sublime humility.

“ When one thinks,” said he, “ that the moon will
probably rise ten million times over the hill yonder on
such a night as this, it strikes one that woman-hating
is petty, not to say a trifle fatuous."

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He puffed awhile in silence, and then went on —

“ The strange part of it is, that the argument does
not seem to affect Tamsin as much as I should have
fancied.”

He paused for a moment, and added :

“Or to prove as conclusively as I should expect
that I am a fool. Possibly if I see Geraldine to-morrow,
she will prove it more satis - ”

He broke off to clutch the lattice, and stare with
rigid eyes across the creek.

For the moon was by this time high enough to
fling a ray upon the deserted hull : and there— upon
the deck — stood a figure — the figure of a woman.

She was motionless, and leant against the bulwarks,
with her face towards him, but in black shadow.
A dark hood covered her head; but the cloak was
flung back, and revealed just a gleam of white where
her bosom and shoulders bent forward over the
schooner’s side.

Mr. Fogo’s heart gave a leap, stood still, and then
fell to beating with frantic speed. He craned out at
the window, straining his eyes. At the same moment
the pipe dropped from his lips and tumbled, scattering
a shower of sparks, into the rose-bush below.

When he looked up again the woman had dis¬
appeared.

Suddenly he remembered Caleb’s story of the girl
who, ages back, had left her home to live among
the lepers in this very house, perhaps in the very
room he occupied ; and of the ghost that haunted
the burial ground below. Mr. Fogo was not without
courage; but the recollection brought a feeling of
so many spiders creeping up his spine.

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And yet the whole tale was so unlikely that, by
degrees, as he gazed at the wreck, now completely
bathed in moonlight, he began to persuade himself
that his eyes had played him a trick.

“ I will go to bed,” he muttered ; “ I have been
upset lately, and these fits of mine may well pass into
hallucination. Once think of these women and - ”

He stopped as if shot. From behind the wreck a
small boat shot out into the moon’s brilliance. Two
figures sat in it, a woman and a man ; and as the
boat dropped swiftly down on the ebb he had time
to notice that both were heavily muffled about the
face. This was all he could see, for in a moment
they had passed into the gloom, and the next the
angle of the house hid them from view ; but he could
still hear the plash of their oars above the sounds of
the night.

" The leper and his sweetheart,” was Mr. Fogo’s
first thought. But then followed the reflection —
would ghostly oars sound ? On the whole, he decided
against the supernatural. But the mystery remained.
More curious than agitated, but nevertheless with
little inclination to resume his communing with
the night, Mr. Fogo sought his hammock and fell
asleep.

The sun was high when he awoke, and as he de¬
scended to breakfast he heard Caleb’s mallet already
at work on the quay below. Still, anxious to set
his doubts at rest, he made a hasty meal, and walked
down to take a second opinion on the vision.

Caleb, with his back towards the house, was busily
fitting a new thwart into Mr. Fogo’s boat, and singing
with extreme gaiety —

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“ Oh, where be the French dogs ?

Oh ! where be they, O ?

They be down i’ their long-boats,

All on the salt say, O ! ”

What with the song and the hammering, he did
not hear his master’s approach.

“ Up flies the kite,

An’ down flies the lark, O !

Wi' hale an' tow, rumbleow — — "

“ Good-morning, Caleb.”

" Aw, momin’ to ’ee, sir. You took me unawares — -

‘ All for to fetch home,

The summer an’ the May, O'!

For summer is a-come,

An' winter es a-go.’ ”

“ Caleb, I have seen a ghost.”

The mallet stopped in mid-descent. Caleb looked
up again open-mouthed.

“ Tom Twist and Harry Dingle ! ”

” I beg your pardon ? ”

“ Figger o’ speech, sir, meanin’ ‘ Who’d ha’ thought
et? ’ Whose ghost, sir, ef 'taint a rude question ? ”

Mr. Fogo told his story.

At its conclusion, Caleb laid down his mallet and
whistled.

“ ’Tes the leppards, sure 'nuff, a-ha'ntin’ o’ th’
ould place. Scriptur’ says they will not change their
spots, an’ I’m blest ef et don’t say truth. But deary
me, sir, an’ axin’ your pardon for sayin’ so, you'ra
a game-cock, an’ no mistake.”

“I?”

“ Iss, sir. Two knacks 'pon the floor, an’ I’d
ha’ been up in a jiffey. But niver mind, sir, us’ll

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wait up for mun to-night, an’ I’ll get the loan o’
the Dearlove’s blunderbust in case they gets pol-
rumptious.”

Mr. Fogo deprecated the blunderbuss, but agreed
to sit up for the ghost ; and so for the time the matter
dropped. But Caleb’s eyes followed his master
admiringly for the rest of the day, and more than once
he had to express his feelings in vigorous soliloquy.

“ Niver tell me ! Looks as ef he’d no more pluck
nor a field-mouse; an’ I’m darned ef he takes more
’count of a ghost than he wud of a circuit-preacher.
Blest ef I don’t think ef a sperrit was to knack at
the front door, he’d tell ’un to wipe hes feet ’pon
the mat, an’ make hissel’ at home. Well, well,
seein’s believin’, as Tommy said when he spied
Noah’s Ark i’ the peep-show.”

200

CHAPTER XVIII

OF A YOUNG MAN THAT WOULD START UPON A DARK
ADVENTURE, BUT HAD TWO MINDS UPON IT

At ten o’clock on this same morning Mr. Samuel
Buzza sat by the Club window, alternately skimming
his morning paper and sipping his morning draught.
He was alone, for the habit of early rising was fast
following the other virtues of antique Troy, and the
members rarely mustered in force before eleven.

He had read all the murders and sporting intelli¬
gence, and was about to glance at the affairs of Europe,
when Mrs. Cripps, the caretaker, entered in a hurry
and a clean white apron.

“ If you please, sir, there’s Seth Udy’s little boy
below with a note for you. I’d have brought it up,
but he says he must give it hisself.”

Sam, descending with some wonder, encountered
Mr. Moggridge in the passage. The rivals drew aside
to let each other pass. On the doorstep stood a
ragged urchin, and waved a letter.

“ For you, sir ; an’ plaise you’m to tell me ‘ yes ’
or ‘ no,’ so quick as possible.”

Sam took the letter, glanced at the neat, feminine
handwriting of the address, and tore open the envelope.

“ Dear Mr. Buzza,

“ If you care to remember what was spoken
the other evening, you will to-night help a most
unhappy woman. You will go to the captain’s cabin

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of the Wreck which we visited together, and find
there a small portmanteau. It may be carried in the
hand, and holds the few necessaries I have hidden for
my flight, but please carry it carefully. If you will
be waiting with this by the sign-post at the Five-
Lanes' corner, at 11.30 to-night, no words of mine will
repay you. Should you refuse, I am a wretched
woman ; but in any case I know I may trust you to
say no word of this.

“ Look out for the closed carriage and pair. A
word to the bearer will tell me that I may hope, or
that you care nothing for me.

“ G. G.-S.

“ P.S. — Be very careful not to shake the portman¬
teau.

“ What be I to say, plaise, sir? ”

Sam, who had read the letter for a third time
syllable by syllable, looked around helplessly.

“ Ef you plaise, what be I to say? ”

Sam very heartily wished both boy and letter to
the devil. He groaned aloud, and was about to
answer, when he paused suddenly.

In the room above Mr. Moggridge was singing a
jaunty stave.

The sound goaded Sam to madness ; he ground his
teeth and made up his mind.

“ Say ‘ yes,’ ” he answered, shortly.

The word was no sooner spoken than he wished it
recalled. But the urchin had taken to his^ heels.
With an angry sigh Sam let circumstance decide for
him, and returned to the reading-room.

No doubt the consciousness that pique had just

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betrayed his judgment made him the more inclined
to quarrel with the poet. But assuredly the sight
that met his eyes caused his blood to boil ; for Mr.
Moggridge was calmly in possession of the chair and
newspaper which Sam had but a moment since
resigned.

“ Excuse me, but that is my chair and my paper.”

“ Eh ? ” The poet looked up sweetly. “ Surely,
the Club chair and the Club paper - ”

“ I have but this moment left them.”

“ By a singular coincidence, I have but this moment
taken possession of them.”

“ Give them up, sir.”

“ I shall do nothing of the kind, sir.”

At this point Sam was seized with the unlucky
inspiration of quoting from Mr. Moggridge’s published
works :

“ Forbid the flood to wet thy feet,

Or bind its wrath in chains;

But never seek to quench the heat
That fires a poet’s veins I "

This^stanza, delivered with nice attention to its
author's drawing-room manner, was too much.

“ Sir, you are no gentleman ! ”

“ You seem,” retorted Sam, “ to be an authority
on manners as well as on Customs. I won't repeat
your charge ; but I’ll be dashed if you’re a poet ! "

My Muse is in a very pretty pass. Gentlest of her
sisterhood, she has wandered from the hum of Miss
Limpenny’s whist-table into the turmoil of Mars.
Even as one who, strolling through a smiling cham¬
paign, finds suddenly a lion in his path, and to him
straightway the topmost bough of the platanus is

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dearer than the mother that bare him— in short, I
really cannot say how this history would have ended,
had not Fortune at this juncture descended to the
Club-room in form and speech like to Admiral Buzza.

The Admiral did not convey his son away in a
hollow cloud, or even break the Club telescope in
Mr. Moggridge’s hand ; he made a speech instead, to
this effect :

“ My sons, attend and cease from strife implacable ;
neither be as two ravening whelps that, having
chanced on a kid in the dells of the mountain, dispute
thereover, dragging this way and that with gnashing
jaws. For to youth belong anger and biting words,
but to soothe is the gift of old age.”

What the Admiral actually said was —

“ Hullo ! what the devil are you young cubs
quarrelling about? ”

And now, satisfied that no blood is to be spilt, the
Muse hies gladly to a very different scene.

In the drawing-room of “ The Bower ” Mrs. Good-
wyn-Sandys was sitting with a puzzled face and a
letter on her lap. She had gone to the front door to
learn Sam Buzza’s answer, and, having dismissed her
messenger, was returning, when the garden-gate
creaked, and a blue-jerseyed man, with a gravely
humorous face, stood before her. The new comer
had regarded her long and earnestly before asking —

“ Be you Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys ? ”

I am.

“ Answerin’ to name o’ Geraldine, an’ lawful wife
■o’ party answerin’ to name o’ Honorubble Frederic ? ”

“ Certainly ! ” she smiled.

“ H’m. Then this 'ere’s for you.” And the blue-

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jerseyed man handed a letter, and looked at her
again, searchingly.

" Is there an answer ? ”

" No, I reckon.”

She was turning, when the man suddenly laid a
finger on her arm.

" Axin’ pardon, but you’ll let ’un down aisy, won’t
’ee ? He don’t bear no malice, tho’ he’ve a-suffered
a brave bit. Cure ’un, that’s what I say — cure ’un :
this bein’, o’ cou’se, atween you an’ me. An’ look
’ee here,” he continued, with a slow nod ; “ s’posin’
the party lets on as he’s a-falled in love wi’ another
party, I reckon you won’t be the party to hinder et.
Mind, I bain’t sayin’ you cou’d, but you won’t try,
will ’ee ? That’s atween you an’ me, o’ cou’se.”

The man winked solemnly, and turned down the
path. Before she recovered of her astonishment he
had paused again at the gate, and was looking back.

"That’s understood,” he nodded; "atween you
an’ me an’ the gate-post, o’ cou’se.”

With that he had disappeared.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, if bewildered at this, was
yet more astonished at the contents of the letter.

"Fogo?” she repeated, with a glance at the
signature — " Fogo ? Won’t that be the name of the
woman-hater up at Kit’s House, me dear ? ”

" Certainly,” answered the Honourable Frederic.

" Then I’ll trouble yez to listen to this.”

She read as follows : —

" My Dear Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys,

" When last you left me I prayed that we
might never meet again. But time is stronger than

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I fancied, and here I am writing to you. Fate must
have been in her most ironical mood to bring us so
near in this corner of the world. I thought you were
in another continent ; but if you will let me accept the
chance which brings us together, and call upon you
as an old friend, I shall really be grateful : for there
will be much to talk about, even if we avoid, as I
promise to do, all that is painful; and I am very
lonely. I have seen your husband, and hope you are
very happy. — Believe me, very sincerely yours,

“ Philip Fogo.”

“ What does it mean ? ” asked Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys helplessly.

“ It means, Nellie, that we have just time enough,
and none to spare ; in other words, that ‘ Goodwyn-
Sandys ’ has come near to being a confoundedly
fatal - ”

“ Then he must have known - ”

“ Known ! My treasure, where are your wits ?
Beautiful namesake — jilted lover — ‘ hence, perjured
woman ’ — bleeding heart — years pass — marry another
— finger of fate — Good Lord ! ” wound up the Honour¬
able Frederic. “ I met the fellow one day, and
couldn’t understand why he stared so — gave me the
creeps — see it all now.”

He lay back in his chair and whistled.

There was a tap at the drawing-room door, and the
buttoned youth announced that Mrs. Buzza was with¬
out, and earnestly begged an interview with Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys. The Honourable Frederic obli¬
gingly retired to smoke, and the visitor was shown in.

Her appearance was extraordinary. Her portly

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figure shook ; her eyes were red ; her bonnet, rakishly
poised over the left eye, had dragged askew the
“ front ” under it, as though its wearer had parted
her hair on one side in a distracted moment. A sob
rent her bosom as she entered.

“ My poor soul ! ” murmured Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys, “ you are in trouble.”

Mrs. Buzza tried to speak, but dropped into a chair
and nodded instead.

“ What is the matter? ”

" It’s — it’s him.”

“ The Admiral ? ”

Mrs. Buzza mopped her eyes and nodded again.

“ What has he done now? ”

“ S-said his bu-bu-breakfast was cold this mo-horn¬
ing, and p-pitched the bu-bu-breakfast set over the
quay-door,” she moaned. “ Oh ! w-what shall I
do? ”

“ Leave him ! ”

Mrs. Buzza clasped her hands and stared.

‘‘You could see the m-marks quite plain,” she
wailed.

" What ! Did he strike you ? ”

“ I mean, on the bo-bottom of the c-cups. They
were real W- Worcester.”

“ Leave him ! Oh ! I have no patience,” and
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys stamped her little foot, “ with
you women of Troy. Will you always be dolls — dolls
with a painted smile for all man’s insane caprices ?
WilLyou never ? ”

“ I don’t paint,” put in Mrs. Buzza feebly.

“ Revolt, I say ! Leave him this very night !
Oh ! if I could - ”

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“ If you please ’m,” interrupted the page, throwing
open the door, “ here’s Mrs. Simpson, an’ says she
must see you particular.”

Mrs. Buzza had barely time to dry her eyes and set
her bonnet straight, before Mrs. Simpson rushed into
the room. The new comer’s face was crimson, and
her eyes sparkled.

" Oh ! Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, I must - "

At this point she became aware of Mrs. Buzza,
stopped abruptly, sank into a chair, and began aim¬
lessly to discuss the weather.

This was awkward ; but the situation became still
further strained when Mrs. Pellow was announced,
and bursting in with the same eagerness, came to a
dead halt with the same inconsequence. Mrs.
Saunders followed with white face and set teeth, and
Mrs. Ellicome-Payne in haste and tears.

“ Pray come in,” said their hostess blandly ; “ this
is quite like a mothers’ meeting.”

The reader has no doubt guessed aright. Though
nobody present ever afterwards breathed a word as
to their reasons for calling thus at “ The Bower,”
and though the weather (which was serene and
settled) alone supplied conversation during their
visit, the truth is that the domestic relations of all
these ladies had coincidently reached a climax. It
seems incredible ; but by no other hypothesis can I
explain the facts. If the reader can supply a better,
he is entreated to do so.

At length, finding the constraint past all bearing,
Mrs. Buzza rose to go.

You will do it ? ” whispered her hostess as they
shook hands.

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She could not trust herself to answer, but nodded
and hastily left the room. At the front door she
almost ran against a thin, mild-faced gentleman. He
drew aside with a bow, and avoided the collision;
but she did not notice him.

“ I will do it,” she kept repeating to herself, “ in
spite of the poor girls.”

A mist swept before her eyes as she passed down the
road. She staggered a little, with a vague feeling
that the world was ending somehow; but she re¬
peated —

“ I will do it. I have been a good wife to him ;
but it's all over now — it's all over to-night.”

The mild-faced gentleman into whom Mrs. Buzza
had so nearly run in her agitation was Mr. Fogo. A
certain air of juvenility sat upon him, due to a new
pair of gloves and the careful polish which Caleb had
coaxed upon his hat and boots. His clothes were
brushed, his carriage was more erect ; and the page,
who opened the door, must, after a scrutiny, have
pronounced him presentable, for he was admitted at
once.

Undoubtedly the page blundered; but the events
of the past hour had completely muddled the poor
boy’s wits, and perhaps the sight of one of his own
sex was grateful, coming as it did after so many
agitated females. At any rate, Mr. Fogo and his card
entered the Goodwyn-Sandys’ drawing-room together.

I leave you to imagine his feelings. In one wild
instant the scene exploded on his senses. He stag¬
gered back against the door, securely pinning the
retreating page between it and the doorpost, and
denuding the Goodwyn-Sandys’ livery of half a dozen

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buttons. The four distracted visitors started up is
if to escape by the window. Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys
advanced.

She was white to the lips. A close observer might
have read the hunted look that for one brief moment
swept over her face. But when she spoke her words
were cold and calm.

“ You wish to see my husband, Mr. - ? ” She

hesitated over the name.

“ Not in the least,” stammered Mr. Fogo.

There was an awful silence, during which he stared
blankly around on the ladies.

“ Then may I ask - ? ”

“ I desired to see Gerald — I mean, Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys — but - ’ ’

“ I am Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys. Would you mind
stating your business? ”

Mr. Fogo started, dropped his hat, and leant back
against the door again.

“ You ! ”

“ Certainly.” Her mouth worked slightly, but her
eyes were steady.

‘‘You are she that — was — once — Geraldine —
O’Halloran ? ”

“ Certainly.”

“ Excuse me, madam,” said Mr. Fogo, picking up
his hat and addressing Mrs. Simpson politely, “ but
the mole on your chin annoys me.”

“Sir! ”

“ Annoys me excessively. May I ask, was it a
birth-mark ? ”

“ He is mad ! ” screamed the ladies, starting up
and wringing their hands. “ Oh, help ! help ! ”

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Mr. Fogo looked from one to another, and passed
his hand wearily over his eyes.

“ You are right,” he murmured ; “ I fancy — do you
know — that I must be — slightly — mad. Pray excuse
me. Would one of you mind seeing me home ? ” he
asked with a plaintive smile.

His eyes wandered to Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, who
stood with one hand resting on the table, while the
other pointed to the door.

“ Help ! help ! ” screamed the ladies.

Without another word he opened the door and
tottered out into the passage. At the foot of the
stairs he met the Honourable Frederic, who had been
attracted by the screams.

“It’s all right,” said Mr. Fogo; “don't trouble.
I shall be better out in the open air. There are women
in there ” — he pointed towards the drawing-room —
“ and one with a mole. I daresay it’s all right — but
it seemed to me a very big mole.”

And leaving the Honourable Frederic to gasp, he
staggered from the house.

What happened in the drawing-room of “ The
Bower ” after he left it will never be known, for the
ladies of Troy are silent on the point.

* * * * * *

It was ten o’clock at night, the hour when men may
cull the bloom of sleep. Already the moon rode in a
serene heaven, and, looking in at the Club window,
saw the Admiral and Lawyer Pellow — “ male feriatos
Troas ” — busy with a mild game of ecarte. There
were not enough to make up a loo to-night, for Sam
and Mr. Moggridge were absent, and so — more un-

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accountably — was the Honourable Frederic. The
moon was silent, and only she, peering through the
blinds of " The Bower,” could see Mr. and Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys hastily packing their boxes; or
beneath the ladder, by the Admiral’s quay-door, a
figure stealthily unmooring the Admiral’s boat.

To say that Sam Buzza did not relish his task were
but feebly to paint his feelings, as, with the paddles
under one arm, and the thole-pins in his pocket, he
crept down the ladder and pushed off. Never before
had the plash of oars seemed so searching a sound;
never had the harbour been so crowded with vessels ;
and as for buoys, small craft, and floating logs, they
bumped against his boat at every stroke. The moon,
too, dogged him with persistent malice, or why was
it that he rode always in a pool of light ? The ships’
lamps tracked him as so many eyes. He carried a
bull’s-eye lantern in the bottom of his boat, and the
smell of its oil and heated varnish seemed to smell
aloud to Heaven.

With heart in mouth, he crossed the line of the ferry,
and picked his way among the vessels lying off the
jetties. On one of these vessels somebody was playing
a concertina, and as he crept under its counter a voice
hailed him in German. He gave no answer, but
pulled quickly on. And now he was clear again, and
nearing Kit's House under the left bank. There was
no light in any window, he noticed, with a glance over
his shoulder. Still in the shadow, and only pulling
out, here and there, to avoid a jutting rock, he gained
the creek’s mouth, and rowed softly up until the
bulwarks of the old wreck overhung him.

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The very silence daunted him now ; but it must be
gone through. Thinking to deaden fear by hurry, he
caught up the lantern, leapt on board with the painter,
fastened it, and crept swiftly towards the poop.

He gained the hatch, and paused to turn the slide
of his lantern. The shaft of light fell down the com¬
panion as into a pitch-dark well. He could feel his
heart thumping against his ribs as he began the
descent, and jumping with every creak of the rotten
boards, while always behind his fright lurked a sicken¬
ing sense of the guilty foolishness of his errand.

At the ladder’s foot he put his hand to his damp
brow, and peered into the cabin.

In a moment his blood froze. A hoarse cry broke
from him.

For there — straight ahead — a white face with
straining eyes stared into his own !

And then he saw it was but his own reflection in a
patch of mirror stuck into the panel opposite.

But the shock of that pallid mask confronting him
had already unnerved him utterly.

He drew his eyes away, glanced around, and spied
a black portmanteau propped beside a packing-case
in the angle made by the wall and the flooring. In
mad haste to reach the open air, but dimly remember¬
ing Geraldine’s caution, he grasped the handles, flung
a look behind him, and clambered up the ladder again,
and out upon deck.

The worst was over; but he could not rest until
again in his boat. As he untied the painter, he noticed
the ray of his lantern dancing wildly up and down the
opposite bank with the shaking of his hand. Cursing
his forgetfulness, he turned the slide, slipped the

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lantern into his pocket, and, lowering himself gently
with the portmanteau, dropped, seized the paddles,
and rowed away as for dear life.

He had put three boats’ lengths between him and
the hull, and was drawing a sigh of relief, when a

voice hailed him, and then -

A tongue of flame leapt out, and a loud report rang
forth upon the night. He heard something whistle
by his ear. Catching up the paddles again, he pulled
madly out of the creek, and away for the opposite
bank of the river ; ran his boat in ; and, seizing the
portmanteau, without attempt to ship the oars or
fasten the painter, leapt out ; climbed, slipped, and
staggered over the slippery stones; and fled up the
hill as though a thousand fiends were at his heels.

214

CHAPTER XIX

THAT A SILVER BULLET HAS VIRTUE I WITH A
WARNING TO COMMODORES

“ Well, sir,” remarked Caleb at ten o’clock that
evening, after an hour’s watching had passed and
brought no sign of a ghost, “ I wish this ’ere sperrit,
ef sperrit et be, wud put hissel’ out to be punkshal.
They do say as the Queen must wait while her beer’s
a-drawin’ ; but et strikes me ghost-seein’ es apt to
be like Boscas’le Fair, which begins twelve an’ ends
at noon.”

Caleb caressed a huge blunderbuss which lay
across his knee, and caused Mr. Fogo no slight
apprehension.

“ Et puts me i’ mind,” he went on, as his master was
silent, “ o’ th’ ould lidden 1 as us used to sing when
us was tiny mites : —

Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me right,

Where was I last SatTday night?

I seed a chimp-champ champin’ at his bridle,

I seed an ould fox workin' hissel’ idle.

The trees did shever, an’ I did shake.

To see what a hole thic’ fox did make.

Now I comes to think ’pon et, ’tes Sat'rday night
too ; an' that’s odd, as Martha said by her glove.”
Still Mr. Fogo was silent.

“ As for the blunderbust, sir, there’s no call to

1 A monotonous chant or burthen.

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be afeard. ’Tes on’y loaded wi’ shot an’ a silver
shillin’. I heerd tell that over to Tresawsen, wan
time, they had purty trouble wi’ a lerrupin' big hare,
sir. Neither man nor hound cud cotch her; an’ as
for bullets, her tuk in bullets like so much ballast.
Well, sir, th’ ould Squire were out wi’ his gun wan
day, an’ 'way to track thicky hare, roun’ an’ roun',
for up ten mile ; an’ the more lead he fired, the better
plaised her seemed. ‘ Darn et ! ’ says the old Squire
at las’. ‘ ’Tes witchcraf’ ; I’ll try a silver bullet.’
So he pulls out a crown-piece an’ hammers 'un into
a slug to fit hes gun. He’d no sooner loaded than
out pops the hare agen, not twenty yards off, an'
right ’cross the path. Th’ ould man blazed away,
an' this time hit her sure ’nuff : hows’ever, her warn’t
too badly wounded to nip roun’ the knap o’ the hill
an’ out o’ sight. ‘I’ll ha’ 'ee ! ’ cries the Squire;
an’ wi’ that pulls hot foot roun’ the hill. An’ there,
sir, clucked in under a bit o’ rock, an’ pantin' for
dear life, were ould Mally Skegg. I tell ’ee, sir, the
Squire made no more to do, but ’way to run, an’ niver
stopped till he were safe home to Tresawsen. That’s
so. Mally were a witch, like her mother afore her;
an’ the best proof es, her wore a limp arter this to
the day o’ her death.”

Mr. Fogo roused himself from his abstraction to
ask —

“ Do you seriously believe it was a ghost that I
saw last night ? ”

“ That’s as may be. Ef 'taint, 'tes folks as has
no bus’ness hereabouts. I’ve heerd tell as you’m
wi’in the law ef you hails mun dree times afore firin’.
That’s what I means to do, anyway. As for ghostes,
I do believe, an’ I don’t believe.”

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“ What ? That a man’s spirit comes back after
death to trouble folks? ”

“ I dunno ’bout sperrit : but I heerd a tale wance
’bout a man’s remains as gi’ed a peck o’ trouble arter
death. ’Twas ould Commodore Trounce as the
remains belonged to, an’ ’tes a queer yarn, ef you
niver heerd et afore.”

Caleb looked at his master. Mr. Togo had not
yet told the story of his call at “ The Bower ” ; but
Caleb saw that he was suffering, and had planned
this story as a diversion.

The bait took. Mr. Fogo looked up expectant,
and lit a fresh pipe. So Caleb settled himself in his
corner of the window-seat, and, still keeping an eye
on the old schooner, began —

“ The Commodore’s Progress.

“You’ve heerd me spake, sir, o’ Joe Bonaday,
him as made poetry 'long wi’ me wan time when
lying becalmed off Ilfrycombe ? ”

“ Certainly.”

“ Well, this Joe were a Barnstaple man, bred an’
born. But he had a brother — Sam were hes name —
as came an’ settled out Carne way ; ‘ Ould These-
an’-Thicky,’ us used to call 'n. Sam was a crowder,1
you must knaw, an’ used to play the fiddle over to
Tregarrick Fair; but he cudn' niver play more’n
two tunes. ‘ Which’ll ’ee ha’,’ he used to say, ‘ which
’ll ’ee ha’ — these or thicky ? ’ That’s why, tho’ he
was christened Sam, us used to call ’n These-an’-
Thicky for short.”

“ I see.”

“ This ’ere Sam Bonaday, tho’ he came an’ settled
1 A fiddler.

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down i’ these parts, was a bettermost body i’ some
ways, an' had a-seen a heap o’ life 'long wi’ ould
Commodore Trounce. Sam was teetotum to the
Commodore, an’ acted currier when th’ ould man
travelled, which he did a brave bit — brushin’ hes
clothes, an’ shinin’ hes boots, an’ takin’ the tickets,
an' the res'. The Commodore were mighty fond o’
Sam : an’ as for Sam, he used to say he mou’t ha’ been
the Commodore’s brother — on’y, you see, he warn’t.”

“ I think I understand,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ Iss, sir. Well, t’ward the end o' hes days the
Commodore were stashuned out at Gibraltar, an’ o’
cou’se takes Sam. He’d a-been ailin’ for a tidy spell,
had the Commodore, an’ I reckon that place finished
’un ; for he hadn’ been there a month afore he tuk
a chill, purty soon Sam saw ’twas on’y a matter o’
time afore th’ ould man wmd go dead.

“ Sam kep’ hes maaster goin’ 'pon brandy an’
milk for a while ; but wan day he comes in an’ finds
'un settin’ up in bed an’ starin’. The Commodore
was a little purgy,1 bustious 2 sort o’ man, sir, wi’
a squinny eye an’ mottles upon hes face, pretty near
so thick as the Milky Way; an’ he skeered Sam a
bit, settin’ up there an’ glazin’.

“ Th’ ould man had no more sproil 3 nor a babby,
an’ had pretty nigh lost hes mouth-speech, but he
beckons Sam to the bed, and whispers —

“ ‘ Sam, you’ve a-been a gude sarvent to me.’

Gude maasters makes gude sarvents,’ says Sam,
an’ falls to cryin’ bitterly.

“ * You’m down i’ my will,' says the Commodore,
‘ so you’ve no call to take on so. But look ’ee here,
Sam ; there’s wan thing more I wants ’ee to do for
1 Thick-set. * Stout. 8 Strength.

2l8

Troy Town

your old maaster. I’ve a-been a Wanderin’ Jewel
all my life/ says he, ‘ —wanderer ’pon the face o’
the earth, like — like ’

“ ‘ Cain,’ says Sam.

Well, not azackly. Hows’ever, you an’ me,
Sam, have a-been like Jan Tresize’s geese, never
happy unless they be where they bain’t, an’ that’s
the truth. An’ now,’ says he, * I’ve a-tuk a consait
I’d like my ould bones to be carr’d home to Carne,
an’ laid to rest ’long wi’ my haveage.1 All the
Trounces have a-been berried in Carne Churchyard,
Sam, an' I’m thinkin’ I’d like to go back to mun,
like the Prodigious Son. So what I wants 'ee to
do es this : — When I be dead an’ gone, you mus’
get a handy box made, so’s I shall carry aisy, an’
take me back to England. You’ll find plenty o’
money for the way i’ the skivet 2 o’ my chest there,
i’ the corner.’

“ * 'Tes a brave long way from here to England,'
says Sam.

“ ‘ I knaws what you be thinkin' 'bout,' says the
Commodore. ‘ You’m reckonin’ I’ll spile on the
way. But I don’t mean ’ee to go by say. You
mus’ take me ’cross the bay an’ then ship aboard a
train, as '11 take 'ee dro Seville, an’ Madrid, an' Paris,
to Dover. 'Tes a fast train,’ says he, ‘ as trains go
i’ these parts ; but I’m doubtin’ ef et starts ivery
day or only dree times a week. I reckon, tho’, ef
you finds out, I can manage so’s my dyin’ shan’t
interfere wi’ that.’

“ Well, Sam was forced to promise, an’ the Commo¬
dore seemed mighty relieved, an’ lay still while Sam
read to ’n out o’ the books that th’ ould man had by
1 Kin. 1 A concealed compartment or drawer.

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’n. There was the Bible, and the Pellican’s Progress,
an’ Philip Quarles, an’ Hannah Snell, the female
sodger. Sam read a bit from each, an’ when he
comes to that part about Christ’n crossing the river,
th’ ould man sets up sudden an’ calls, ‘ Land, Sam,
land! Fetch a glass, lad!’ — just like that, sir;
an’ wi’ that falls back dead.

“ Well, sir, Sam was ’most out o’ hes wits, fust
along, for grief to lose hes maaster ; but he warn’t
the man to go back ’pon hes word. So he loses no
time, but, bein’ a handy man, rigs up a wooden
chest wi’ the help o’ a ship’s carpenter, an’ a tin
case to ship into this, an’ dresses up the Commodore
inside, an’ nails ’un down proper ; an’ wi’in twenty-
four hours puts across in a boat, ’long wi’ hes charge,
for to catch the train.

“ He hadn’ barely set foot on shore, an’ was givinT
orders about carryin’ the chest up to the stashun,
un’ thinkin’ ’pon the hollerness o’ earthly ways, as
was nat’ral, when up steps a chap in highly-coloured
breeches an’ axes ’un ef he'd anything to declare.

“ Sam had disremembered all ’bout the Customs,
you see, sir.

“ Hows’ever, et mou't ha’ been all right, on’y
Sam, though he could tackle the lingo a bit — just
enough to get along wi’ on a journey, that es — sud¬
denly found that he disknowledged the Spanish for
* corpse.’ He found out, sir, afore the day was out ;
but just now he looks at the chap i’ the colour’d
breeches and says —

“ ‘ No, I ha’nt.'

What’s i’ that box? ’ says the chap.

“ Now this was azackly what Sam cudn’ tell 'un;
so, for lack of anything better, he says —

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<< <

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What’s that to you ? '

“ ‘ I reckon I must ha’ that chest open,’ says the
chap.

“ ‘ I reckon you’ll be sorry ef you do,’ says Sam.

“ ‘ Tell me what’s inside, then.'

“ ‘ Why, darn your Spanish eyes ! ' cries Sam,
‘ can’t 'ee see I be tryin’ to think ’pon the word
for corpse ? '

“ But the chap cudn’, of cou'se ; so he called
another in breeches just as gay as hes own, on’y
stripier ; and then for up ten minutes ’twas Dover
to pay, all talkers an’ no listeners. I reckon ’twas
as Sal said to the Frenchman, ‘ The less you talks,
the better I understands 'ee.' But Sam’s blud were
up by this time. Hows'ever, nat’rally he was forced
to gi’e way, and they tuk the box into the Custom
House, an’ sent for hammer an’ screw-driver.

“ ‘ Seems to me,’ says the chap, prizin’ the lid open
a bit, an’ sniffin', ‘ et smells oncommon like sperrits.’

“ ‘ I’m thinkin',' says Sam,ef you’d been kep’ goin’
on brandy-an’-milk for a week an’ more, you'd smell
like sperrits.’

“ ‘ I guess 'tes sperrits,’ says wan.

“ ‘ Or 'baccy,' says anuther.

“ ‘ Or furrin fruits,' says a third.

“ ‘ Well, you'm wrong,' says Sam, ‘ 'cos 'tes a
plain British Commodore ; an' I reckon ef you taxes
that sort o' import, you dunno what’s good for ’ee.’

“ At las’, sir, they prizes open the chest an’ the
tin case, an’ there, o’ cou'se, lay th’ ould man, sleepin'
an’ smilin’ so paiceful-like he looked ha’f a Commo¬
dore an’ ha’f a cherry-bun.”

“I suppose you mean ‘cherubim,’ Caleb?”
corrected Mr. Fogo.

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“ I s’pose I do, sir ; tho' I reckon th’ ould man
seemed happier than he were, havin’ been a 'nation
scamp in hes young days, an’ able to swear to the
las’ so’s t’wud pretty nigh fetch the mortar out’n
a brick wall. Hows’ever, that’s not to the p’int here.

“ Aw, sir, you may fancy how them poor ign’rant
furriners left that Custom House. Sam told me
arterwards ’twere like shellin’ peas — spakin’ in
pinafores - ”

“ Metaphors,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ That’s et — met-afores. Anyway, they jest fetched
a yell, an’ then went, sir. I guess Sam knawed
the Spanish for * corpse ’ afore they was gone. In
less ’n a minnit not a pair o’ coloured breeches cud
you find, not ef you wanted them fancy articles ever
so. Sam chuckles a bit to hissel’, fas’ens down the
lid so well as he cud, h’ists the Commodore aboard
a wheelbarrer, an’ trundles ’un off to the train.

“ He cotches the train jest as ’twere startin’, an’
sails away in a fust-class carr’ge all to hissel’, wi’
the Commodore laid ’long the seat opposite ; ‘ for,’
said Sam, ‘ drat expense when a fun’ral’s goin’ ! ’
An’ all the way he chuckles an’ grins to hissel’, to
think o’ the start he’d gi’ed they Custom House
rascals ; an’ at las’ he gets that tickled he’s bound
to lie back an’ fairly hurt hissel’ wi’ laffin’.

“ I reckon, tho’, he laffed a bit too early; for jest
then the train slowed down, and pulled up at a
stashun. Sam looked out an’ saw a dapper little
man a-bustlin’ up an' down the platform, like a bee
in a bottle, an’ pryin’ into the carr’ge windeys same
as ef the train were a peep-show. Presently he opens
the door of Sam’s compartment, an’ axes, holdin’ up
a tellygram—

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“ ‘ Be you the party as es travellin’ wi’ a dead
man? ’

“He spoke i’ Spanish, o’ cou’se, sir; but, not
knowin’ the tongue, I tells et to you in English.”

“ I had guessed that to be the reason,” replied
Mr. Fogo.

“ Well, Sam were a bit tuk aback, but he answers —

“‘Iss, I be. Why?’

“ ‘ Want ’un berried? ’

“ ‘ Why, no, not partic’lar. Sooner or later, o’
cou’se ; but, thank’ee all the same, I’m thinkin’ to
do et a bit furder on.’

“ ‘ Then,’ says the dapper man, ‘ I’ll trouble you
to hand over the berryin' fees for this parish.'

“ ‘ But I baint goin’ to berry deceased i’ this
parish.’

“ ‘ That don’t matter. Ef a corpse has use o’
this parish, he’s got to pay fees.'

“ ‘ How’s that ? '

“ ‘ Why, a corpse es dead,' says the chap; ' you’ll
allow that, I s’pose ? ’

“ ‘ Iss,’ says Sam, ‘ I reckon I’ll allow that.’

“ ‘ An’ ef a corpse es i’ this parish, he’s dead i’
this parish? ’

“ * Likely he es,’ admits Sam.

“ * Well, 'cordin’ to law, anybody dead i’ this
parish es boun’ to be berried i’ this parish, an’ there¬
fore to pay fees,’ says the man ; ‘ and now I hopes
you’ll hand over the money, ’cos the train’s waitin’.’

“ Sam was for a raisin' a rumpus, an' gathered a
crowd roun’ the door; but they all sided wi’ the
dapper man, and said ’twas Spaniards’ law, an’ ef
he wudn’ pay, he must get out an’ berry the Com¬
modore there an' then. So he gi'ed in and pulled

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out the money, an’ off they starts, the dapper man
standin’ an’ bowin’ ’pon the platform.

“ Well, Sam leant back an’ ciphered et out, an’
cudn’ see the sense o’t. 4 But,’ says he, 4 when you’m
in Turkey you do as the Turkeys do, 'cordin’ to the
proverb, so I guess ’tes all right; an’ ef et ’pears
wrong, ’tes on’y that I bain’t used to travellin’ wi’
corpses ; ’ an’ wi’ that he settles down an’ goes to
sleep.

“ He hadn’ been long sleepin’ when the train pulls
up agen, an’ arter a minnit in comes anuther chap
wi’ a tellygram.

“ 4 Deceased? ’ axes the chap, pointin’ to the chest.

44 ' Mod’rately,’ says Sam.

" 4 Wants berryin’ p’raps? ’ says the chap.

44 4 I reckon he’ll hold on a bit longer.’

“ ‘ Next parish, likely? ’

“ 4 Why, iss,’ says Sam, 4 or next arter that.’

“ 4 Ah, what et es to be rich ! ’ says the man, kind
o’ envious-like.

4 4 4 What do ’ee mean by that? ’ Sam axes.

4 4 4 Niver mind,’ answers the man. 4 ’Twam’t no
bus’ness o’ mines. Wud ’ee kindly hand me the
fees for this parish ? ’

44 Well, Sam argeys the matter agen, but i’ the
end he pays up : 4 Tho’,’ says he, 4 I’d a notion
travellin’ were costly afore this, but darn me ! you’ve
got to be dead afore you sizes et. I’ve heerd as a
man can’t take nuthin’ out o’ this world, but blest
ef I iver got the grip o’ that tex’ till I travelled i’
Spain.’

44 Wei, sir, purty soon the same thing happened
agen, an’, to shorten the yam, ivery time they got

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into a new parish an’ pulled up, in walked a chap
wi’ a tellygram an’ axed for berryin’-fees. Luckily,
there was money to pay mun, for the Commodore
had left a bravish sum for travellin’ expenses, and
by-’m-by Sam begins to take a sort o’ pride in pullin’
out hes purse.

“ ‘ Talk ’bout fun’rals ! ’ says he, ‘ I reckon this
es suthin’ like. Adm’ral Nelson ! why, Adm’ral
Nelson didn’ cost ha’f so much ! An’ you ain’t but
a Commodore,’ says he. ‘ Devil fly away wi’ ’ee,
maaster, but so long as the coin lasts Sam won’t cry
“ Woa ! ” ’

“ The words warn’t fairly out o’ hes mouth, sir,
when the train draws up, an’ in steps another man.
He corned in so quiet that Sam didn’ see ’un at first ;
but when he turned roun’, there was the man standin’
an’ starin’ at ’un. ’Twas a strange-looking party,
dressed i’ black — a better-most body, like.

“ ‘ Aw, good eveling ! ’ says Sam.

“ ‘ Good eveling,’ says the man i’ black, an’ nods
t’wards the chest. ' How’s deceased? ’

“ ‘ Gettin’ a bit costly,’ answers Sam, ‘ but doin’
purty well, consederin’. You’m wantin’ more fees,
I reckon ’ ; an’ wi’ that he dives hes hand into hes
trowsy- pocket.

“ ‘ 1 don’t want no fees,’ says the man.

“ Sam was knacked ’pon a heap wi’ this.

“ ‘ Well, then, you’m the fust man I’ve a-met in
Spain as doesn’,' he says.

“That ain’t onlikely,’ says the man; and Sam
noticed for the fust time that he’d a-been speakin’
English all along. ‘ I be a-travellin’, same as you,’
he adds.

I

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“ ‘ You’ll 'scuse me, sir, but this compartment es
resarved.’

“ ‘ That’s a pity,’ says the stranger, ‘ 'cos the
train’s a-started.’

“ So ’twas. Sam hadn’ a-noticed et, but they was
movin’ on. Hows’ever, he detarmined to make the
best o’t ; so he ups and says, perlite-like —

“ ‘ Terrable hot weather this, ain’t et, sir?’
Somehow et seemed to Sam as ef et had got hotter
sence the stranger corned in.

“ ‘ I don’t feel so mighty hot,’ says the man. ‘ But
there, I’ve a-been a gude deal in hot countries.
How’s deceased takin’ the journey? ’ says he.

“ ‘ He ain’t complainin’ ; but, then, in life he warn’t
a complainin’ sort. Aw, sir, but a man must be
over-nice ef a fun’ral like thes don’t satisfy ’n.
Phew ! but 'tes awful ! ’

“ ‘ What’s awful ? ’

“ ‘ The heat,' answers Sam, moppin’ his forehead ;
‘ but I s’pose you’m a traveller, an’ ’customed to heat.’

“ ‘ Why, iss,' says t’other, ‘ I do travel a purty
passel to an’ fro ’pon th’ earth. Few folks travels
more’n me.’

“ Well, et kep’ gettin’ hotter an’ hotter ; an’ Sam
cussed an’ mopped, an’ mopped an’ cussed, an’ all
the time the stranger were cool an’ aisy. He kep’
axin’, too, ’bout th’ ould Commodore an’ hes past
life, an’ 'peared to take interes’ in Sam, an’ altogitner
seemed a proper gen’l’m’n. An’ all the time et kep’
gettin’ hotter an’ hotter, till Sam were fairly runnin’
to waste wi’ sweatin’. At las’ he pops hes head
out’n the windey for fresh air, an’ cries out —

“ ‘ Hulloa ! here's a stashun.’

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“ Well, the train pulls, up, an’ Saiu says to the
stranger —

“ ‘ Look 'ee here. Wud ’ee mind keepin’ your eye
’pon th’ ould man while I runs out to get a drink?
I reckoned I knawed thirst afore this,’ he says, ‘ but
I were mistook.’

“ The stranger was very willin’, and away Sam
goes.

“ He warn’t away more’n a minnit ; but when he
comes back an’ takes a look at the platform, my !
sir ! there warn’t no trace of the train to be seen —
not a vestment. You see, they don’t blaw no whissle
in Spain when the train goes; an’ there was poor
Sam left stranded.

“ Well, he tellygrafs o’ cou’se to the nex’ stashun,
an’ in less 'n an hour back comes an answer to say
as they searched the train when et stopped, an’ there
warn’t no corpse there, nor chest, nor nuthin’. An’
ef you’ll believe me, sir,” concluded Caleb, bending
forward and touching his master’s knee, " th’ ould
Commodore ha’n’t niver been found fro’ that day
to this. Et ’most broke Sam’s heart ; an’, as he
said to me wan time, ‘For all I knaws 'twas the
devil ; and for all I knaws th’ ould maaster be travel-
lin’ roun’ Spain to this day; but ef so,’ says he, ‘ I
reckon by this time he’s like Patty Ward’s pig — no
lavender.' ”

“ That’s a very curious tale,” said Mr. Fogo, as
Caleb leant back in the window-seat and awaited its
effect.

“ 'Tes so true, sir, as I’m here — or so Sam used to
say. An’ the moral goes agen talkin’ lightly o’ what
I 2 227

Troy Town

a man don’t understand,” he added reflectively.
“ But forebodin’ es so bad as witch-craf', an’ ’tes
more’n likely they won’t come to-night ; but if they
does, ’tes on’y fair to ax mun who they be dree times
afore firin’. What’s fair for man es fair - ”

He broke off and clutched his master by the arm.

“ Look, sir — look ! ”

About the deck of the old schooner a shaft of light
was dancing fitfully — now here, now there, up and
down — and all without visible source or guidance.

The two watchers leapt to their feet and peered
out at the window.

The strange brilliance flickered to and fro, falling
even on the further bank, and threading with a line
of yellow the silver-grey of the moonlight. Then it
ceased suddenly.

Caleb and his master waited breathlessly. Half a
minute passed without further sign. Then they heard
a light splash or two, and Mr. Fogo pointed frantically
at the line of the moon’s reflection on the creek.

“ There ! Look — the boat ! ”

Caleb whipped the blunderbuss up to his shoulder
and shouted —

“Who be 'ee? Darn 'ee, here goes — wan, two,
dree, all to wanst ! ”

He pulled the trigger. A tongue of flame leapt
forth and burst upon the night with a terrific ex¬
plosion ; and as Caleb fell backwards with the shock,
the clumsy engine slipped from his fingers and fell
with a clatter upon Mr. Fogo’s instep.

When the pair recovered and looked forth again,
the echoes had died away, and once more the night
was tranquil.

228

CHAPTER XX

HOW CERTAIN CHARACTERS FOUND THEMSELVES, AT
DEAD OF NIGHT, UPON THE FIVE LANES ROAD

Panting, slipping, with aching sides, but terror at
his heels, Sam Buzza tore up the hill. Lights danced
before him, imaginary voices shouted after; but he
never glanced behind. The portmanteau was mon¬
strously heavy, and more than once he almost dropped
it ; but it was tightly packed, apparently, for nothing
shook inside it. Only the handles creaked in his grasp.

He gained the top, shifted the load to his left hand,
and raced down the other side of the hill. How he
reached the bottom he cannot clearly call to mind;
but he dug his heels well into the turf, and arrived
without a fall. At the foot of the slope a wire fence
had to be crossed; next the railway hne, then, across
the embankment, another fence, which kept a shred
of his clothing. A meadow followed, and then he
dropped over the hedge into the high road.

Here he stopped, set down the portmanteau, and
looked about him. All was quiet. So vivid was the
moonlight that as looking down the road he could
mark every bush, every tuft of grass almost, on the
illumined side. Not a soul was in sight.

The night was warm, and his flight had heated him
intolerably. He felt for his handkerchief to mop his
brow, but snatched his hand away.

His coat was burning. It was the lantern. Like
a fool he had forgotten to blow it out, and an abomin-

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able smell of oil and burning cloth now arose from
his pocket. He stifled the smouldering fire, pulled
out the lantern, and looked at his watch.

It wanted twenty minutes to eleven.

He had plenty of time; so, having extinguished
the lantern, and bestowed it in another pocket, he
caught up his burden and began to walk up the road
at a leisurely pace.

His terrors had cooled, but nevertheless he wished
himself well out of the scrape. The report of the gun
still rang in his ears and in fancy he could hear again
the buzz of that bullet by his ear. More than once
a shadow lying across the white road gave him a
twinge of fear; and when a placid cow poked its
nose over the hedge above him, and lowed confi¬
dentially, he leapt almost out of his skin.

The task before him, too, gave him no small
anxiety. The directions in the letter were plain
enough, but not so the intention of Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys. Did she mean him to elope with her ? He
did not care to face the question. The Admiral,
though an indulgent father, was not extravagant ;
and Sam had but seven-and-sixpence in his pocket.
This was an excellent sum for long whist at three¬
penny points, but would hardly defray the cost of
an elopement. Besides, he did not want to elope.

“ No words of mine will repay you.” Now he
came to consider, these words wore an awkward
look. Good Heavens ! he had a mind to drop the
portmanteau and run home. What had he done to
be tempted so? And why had these people ever
come to Troy ?

Ah ! Sam, that was the question we should have

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asked ourselves months ago. Some time before, at
a concert in the Town Hall, I remember that Mr.
Moggridge sang the line —

“ Too late the balm when the heart is broke ! ”

And a Trojan voice at the back assented —

“ A dum sight.”

Why had we been denied that perspicacity now ?

So with a heavy burden, and heavier conscience
(both of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys’ packing), he trudged
forward, kicking up clouds of dust that sparkled in
the moonlight. Presently the ascent grew more
gradual, the hedges lower, and over their tops he
could feel the upland air breathing coolly from the
sea. And now the sign-post hove in sight, and the
cross-roads stretching whitely into distance.

If we take the town of Troy as a base, lying north
and south, this sign-post forms the apex of a triangle
which has two high-roads for its remaining sides —
the one road entering Troy from the north by the
hill which Sam had just ascended, the other running
southwards and ending with a steep declivity at no
great distance from “ The Bower.”

It was by this southern road, of course, that Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys would come. Sam looked along it,
but all as yet was silent. He pulled out his watch
again, and, finding that he had still twenty minutes
to spare, set down his load at the foot of the sign¬
post, and began to walk to and fro.

So gloomy were his reflections that, to soothe his
nerves, he pulled out a cigar, lit it, and then, for lack
of anything better to do, rekindled his lantern, and
resumed his walk.

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Troy Town

The cigar was barely half smoked when he heard
a noise in the distance.

Yes, there was no doubt. It was the sound of
horses. Sam caught up the portmanteau, and stared
down the highway. For a full minute he listened
to the advancing clatter, and presently, around an
angle of the road, a chaise and pair broke into view,
and came up at a gallop.

Sam advanced a step or two ; a white handkerchief
was thrust out at the window, and the driver pulled
up suddenly. Then the face of Mrs. Goodwyn-
Sandys looked anxiously out.

“ Ah ! you are there,” she exclaimed with a little cry
of relief. “ I have been so afraid. Have you got it ?

In the moonlight, and that pretty air of timidity
on her face, she was more ravishing than ever. Her
voice called as a siren’s ; her eyes drew Sam irresistibly.
In a second all his fears, doubts, scruples, were flung
to the winds. He held up the portmanteau, and
advanced to the carriage door.

“ Here it is. Geraldine - ”

“ Oh ! thanks, thanks. How can I show my
thanks ? ”

The perfume of her hair floated out upon the night
with the music of her tone until they both fairly
intoxicated him.

He opened the door of the chaise.

“ Where shall I stow it? ” he asked.

“ Here, opposite me ; be very careful of it.”

In the darkness he saw a huge bundle of rugs piled
by Geraldine’s side.

“ Where am I to sit? ” he asked, as he bestowed
the portmanteau carefully.

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Troy Town

He looked up into her face. The loveliest smile
rested on him, for one instant, from those incom¬
parable eyes. She did not answer, but held out her
hand with the grace of a maiden confessing her first
passion. He seized the ungloved fingers, and kissed
them.

“ Geraldine ! ”

At this moment a low chuckle issued from the
bundle of rugs. Sam dropped the hand, and started
back as if stung. A hateful thought flashed upon
him.

“ Moggridge ? But no - ”

He seized his lantern, and turned the slide. A
stream of light shot into the comer of the chaise,
and revealed — the bland face of Mr. Goodwyn-
Sandys !

There was an instant of blank dismay. Then, with
a peal of laughter, Geraldine sank back among the
cushions.

“ Good- night ! ” said the Honourable Frederic with
grim affability; then, popping his head out at the
further window, “ Drive on, John ! ”

The post-boy cracked his whip, the horses sprang
forward, and Sam, with that pitiless laugh still pealing
in his ears, was left standing on the high-road.

In the tumult of the moment, beyond a wild sense
of injustice, it is my belief that his brain accomplished
little. He stared dully after the retreating chaise,
until it disappeared in the direction of Five Lanes ;
and then he groaned aloud.

There was a patch of turf, now heavy with dew,
beside the sign-post. Upon this he sat down, and

233

Troy Town

with his elbows on his knees, and head between his
hands, strove to still the giddy whirl in his brain.
And as his folly and its bitterness found him out,
the poor fool rocked himself, and cursed the day
when he was bom. If any one yet doubt that Mr.
Moggridge was an inspired singer, let him turn to
that sublime aspiration in Sophronia : a Tragedy —

“ Let me be criminal, but never weak ;

For weaklings wear the stunted form of sin
Without its brave apparel " —

and considered Sam Buzza as he writhed beneath
the sign-post.

Pat, pat, pat !

It was the muffled sound of footsteps on the
dusty road. He looked up. A dark figure, the
figure of a woman, was approaching. Its air of
timorous alertness, and its tendency to seek the
shadow of the hedge-row, gave him some confidence.
He arose, and stepped forward into the broad moon¬
light.

The woman gave a short gasp and came to a halt,
shrinking back against the hedge. Something in
her outline struck sharply on Sam’s sense, though
with a flash of doubt and wonder. She carried a
small handbag, and wore a thick veil over her face.

“Who are you? ” he asked gently. “Don’t be
afraid.”

The woman made no answer — only cowered more
closely against the hedge; and he heard her breath
coming hard and fast. Once more — and for the third
time that night— Sam pulled the slide of his lantern.

“ Mother ! ”

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Troy Town

“ Oh ! Sam, Sam, don’t betray me ! I’ll go back
— indeed I’ll go back ! ”

“ In Heaven’s name, mother, what are you doing
here ? ”

The retort was obvious, but Mrs. Buzza merely
cried —

“ Dear Sam, have pity on me, and take me back !
I’ll go quietly— quite quietly.”

The idea of his mother (who weighed eighteen stone
if an ounce) resisting with kicks and struggles might
have caused Sam some amusement, but his brain
was overcrowded already.

“ It’s a judgment,” she went on incoherently,
wringing her hands ; “ and I thought I had planned
it so cleverly. I dressed up his double-bass, Sam,
and put it in the bed — oh ! I am a wicked woman —
and pinned a note to the pin-cushion to say he had
driven me to it, throwing the breakfast things over
the quay-door — real Worcester, Sam, and marked
at the bottom of each piece ; and a carriage from the
Five Lanes Hotel to meet me at twelve o'clock ; but
I’d rather go home, Sam ; I’ve been longing, all the
way, to go back ; it’s been haunting me, that double-
bass, all the time — with my nightcap, too — the one
with real lace — on the head of it. Oh ! take me
home, Sam. I’m a wicked woman ! ”

Sam, after all, was a Trojan, and I therefore like to
record his graces. He drew his mother’s arm within
his with much tenderness, kissed her, and began to
lead her homewards quietly and without question.

But the poor soul could not be silent ; and so,
very soon, the whole story came out. At the mention
of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys Sam shut his teeth sharply.

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Troy Town

“ I shall never be able to face her, Sam.”

“ I don’t think you need trouble about that,
mother,” he answered grimly.

“ But I do. It was she - ”

But at this moment, from the hedge, a few yards
in front, there issued a hollow groan.

They halted, and questioned each other with
frightened eyes.

“ Geraldine ! ” wailed the voice. “ Cruel, perjured
Geraldine ! ”

“ It was going on just like this,” whispered Mrs.
Buzza, “ when I came along. I shut my eyes, and
ran past as hard as I could; but my head was so
full of voices and cries that I didn’t know if 'twas
real or only my fancy.”

“ Geraldine ! ” continued the voice. “ Oh ! dig
my grave — my shroud prepare; for she was false
as she was fair. Geraldine, my Geraldine ! ”

“ Moggridge, by all that’s holy ! ” cried Sam.

It was even so. They advanced a few yards, and
to the right of the road, beside a gate, they saw him.
The poet reclined hmply against the hedge, and with
his head propped upon a carpet-bag gazed dolefully
into the moon’s face.

“ Thou bid’st me,” he began again, “ thou bid’st
me think no more about thee; but, tell me, what is
life without thee ? A scentless flower, a blighted - ”

At the sound of their footsteps he looked round,
stared blankly into Sam’s face, and then, snatching
up the carpet-bag, leapt to his feet and tore down
the road as fast as he could go.

Sam paused. They had reached the brow of the
steeper descent, where the road takes a sudden

236

Troy Town

determination, and plunges abruptly into the valley,
Below, the roofs of the httle town lay white and
sparkling, and straight from a wreath of vapour the
graceful tower of St. Symphorian leapt into the
clearer heaven. Beyond, a network of lights glim¬
mered, like fire-flies, from the vessels at anchor in
the harbour. The Penpoodle Hill, on the further
shore, wore a tranquil halo ; and to the right, outside
the harbour’s mouth, the grey sea was laced with
silver.

“ Did you ever see anything more lovely? ”

Mrs. Buzza murmured the words with no desire
to be answered. It was the old Trojan formula, and
there was peace in the sound of it.

“ Do you know,” she cried, turning to Sam, “ we
were very happy before these people came. We
shall never be the same again — never. Sam, I
feel as if our innocence had ended, Oh ! I am a
wicked woman. Look below, Sam dear, I have
never thought of it before, but how sweet it would
have been to have enclosed the old town in a ring-
fence, and lived our days in quiet ! It is too late
now ; more will come, and they will build and alter,
and no one will be able to stop it. Even if these
people should go, it will never be the same again.
Oh ! I am a sinful woman.”

Sam looked at his mother. Something familiar,
but hitherto half-comprehended, spoke to him in
her words. He drew her arm once more within his
own, and they descended the hill together.

Stealing like ghosts into the front hall of No. 2,
Alma Villas, they were startled to perceive the

237

Troy Town

dining-room door ajar, and a light shining out into the
passage. Creeping forward on tip-toe, they peeped in.

Ppi/A his back laivards tnenx

Sar the Admiral

Beside the table and with his back towards them,
sat the Admiral in his dressing-gown. His right
hand grasped the throat of the double-bass, on the

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Troy Town

L.op of which nodded Mrs. Buzza’s night-cap. His
lift fumbled with a large miniature that lay on the
table before him — a portrait of Mrs. Buzza, taken
ir. the days when she was still Emily Rogers and the
Belle of Portsmouth ; and from this to the instrument
and back again the Admiral’s gaze wandered, as if
painfully comparing the likeness.

“ Homaby ! ” This was the Admiral’s Christian
name.

“ Emily ! ”

He turned and stared at her stupidly. The look
was pitiful. She flung herself before him.

“ Forgive me, Homaby ! I never thought — I
mean, it was all a—”

“ Practical joke,” suggested Sam.

“No, no. I meant to go, but I have come back.
Hornaby, can you forgive me? ”

He raised her up, and drew her towards him very
tenderly.

“ I — I thought it had killed me,” he muttered
hoarsely. “ Emily, I have treated you badly.”

Sam discreetly withdrew.

239

CHAPTER XXI

THAT A VERY LITTLE TEA MAY SUFFICE TO
ELEVATE A MAN

Next morning Mr. Fogo was aroused from sleep by
the rattle of breakfast-cups, and the voice of Caleb
singing below —

“ O, Amble es a fine town, wi' ships in the bay,

An’ I wish wi’ my heart I was on’y there to-day;

I wish wi’ my heart I was far away from here,
A-sittin’ in my parlour, an’ a-talkin’ to my dear."

This was Caleb's signal for his master to rise; and
he would pipe out his old sea-staves as long as Mr.
Fogo cared to listen. Often, of an evening, the two
would sit by the hour, Caleb trolling lustily with
red cheeks, while his master beat time with his pipe
stem, and joined feebly in the chorus —

" Then 'tes home, dearie, home — O, 'tes home I wants to be !
My tawps’les are h’isted, an’ I must out to sea.

Then 'tes home, dearie, home ! "

Mr. Fogo arose and looked forth at the window.
The morning was perfect ; the air fresh with dew
and the scent of awakening roses. Across the creek
the old hull lay as peacefully as ever.

“ I will explore it this very morning,'' thought
Mr. Fogo to himself.

The resolve was still strong as he descended to
breakfast. Caleb was still singing —

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Troy Town

“ O, ef et be a lass, she shall wear a goulden ring;

An’ ef et be a lad, he shall live to sarve hes king;

Wi’ hes buckles, an' hes butes, an' hes little jacket blue,
He shall walk the quarter-deck, as hes daddy used to do.

Then 'tes home - ”

“ Homin’, sir, an’ axin' your pardon for singin’ o’
Sunday. How be feelin’ arter et? — as Grace said
to her cheeld when her rubbed in the cough-mixtur’
an’ made 'un swaUer the lineament.”

“ Do you mean after the ghost ? ”

“ Iss, sir. There’s no dead body about, so ghost
et were. I were a-thinkin’, wi’ your lave, sir, I’d
go down to Troy to church this mornin’ ; I wants to
be exercised a bit arter all this witchcraf’.”

Mr. Fogo wondered at this proposal to go to church
for exercise, but readily granted leave. Nor was it
until Caleb had departed that “ exorcised ” occurred
to him as a varia lectio.

Left to himself, Mr. Fogo spent a tranquil hour
among his roses; and then, remembering his deter¬
mination, unmoored his boat and prepared to satisfy
his doubts.

The tide was low — so low that on the further side
of the old wreck Iris paddles plunged once or twice
into mud. Nor was it easy to swing himself on
board; but a rusty chain helped him, and after one
or two failures he stood upon deck.

All was desolation. He peered down into the hold,
where the water lay deep and still ; crawled forward,
and peeped through a shattered deadlight into the
forecastle. The water was here, too, though it had
drained somewhat, owing to the depression amidships ;
but nothing to explain the mystery.

Mr. Fogo crept aft with better hopes of success,

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gained the poop, and peered down the companion.
The light was too dim to reveal anything. Nothing
daunted, he crawled down the ladder and into the
captain’s cabin.

The first thing to catch his eye was an empty
packing-case, with a heap of shavings and cotton-wool
beside it. On the side of the case was printed in
blue letters — “ Wapshott and Sons. Chicago. Patent
Compressed Tea. With Care.” Mr. Fogo poked his
nose inside it. A faint smell of tea still lingered about
the wood.

Next he inspected the cupboards. Some were open
and all unlocked. He went over them all. At the
end he found himself the richer by —

A watch-glass.

Three brass buttons (one bearing the initials
P. J., and all coated with verdigris).

A pair of nut-crackers.

Several leaves of a devotional work entitled
“ Where shall I be To-morrow? or, Thoughts
for Mariners.”

A key.

An oily rag.

The cap of a telescope.

An empty bottle, labelled, and bearing in faded
ink : “ Poison. For Dick Collins, when his
leg is bad.”

On the whole this was not encouraging. Mr. Fogo
was turning to abandon the search, when something
upon the cabin-floor caught his eye.

He stooped and picked it up. It was a lady’s glove.

Mr. Fogo turned it over in his hand. It was a

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dainty six-buttoned glove, of a light tan colour, and
showed scarcely a trace of wear.

“ This is very odd,” muttered he; “I can hardly
fancy a smuggler wearing this, stih less a ghost.”

With his thoughts still running on the woman he
had seen upon the deck, he advanced to the packing-
case again, and was beginning absently to kick aside
the heap of shavings and cotton-wool, when his foot
encountered some hard object. He bent down and
drew it forth.

It was a small tin case or canister, of oblong shape,
and measured some four inches by two. It was
perhaps two inches in depth. On the cover was a
label, and on the label the legend —

“ WAPSHOTTS’ PATENT COMPRESSED TEA.

Beware of Imitations.”

The lid was lightly soldered, and the canister remark¬
ably heavy.

Mr. Fogo pulled out his pocket-knife, sat down
on the edge of the packing-case, and began to open
his prize.

He had broken one blade in trying to unfasten the
solder, and was beginning with the second, when it
occurred to him to cut through the soft metal of
the canister. In a few minutes he had worked a
considerable hole in the hd.

“ Very curious tea this,” remarked Mr. Fogo.
“ It’s a deal more like putty — or Californian honey.”

The light in the cabin was faint ; he determined to
carry the canister on deck and examine it in the
sunlight.

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Troy Town

He picked his way up the ladder, and was just
emerging from the hatch, when the sudden glare
of the sun caused him to blink and then sneeze. He
caught his toe on the last step, stumbled, dropped
his prize, and fell forward on to the deck. The
canister struck the step, jolted twice, plunged to the

bottom with a smart thud -

There was a flash of jagged flame, a loud roar, a
heave and crash of riven timbers — and the old hull
had passed from decay to annihilation.

* * * * * *

This would seem a convenient moment for regulat¬
ing our watches, which have gained considerably,
and putting back the hands to half-past ten, at
which hour the bells of St. Symphonan’s, Troy, began
to summon the town to worship.

A few minutes later the town sallied forth in pairs
and decorous excitement. It was dying to see Mrs.
Goodwyn-Sandys' costume, and marched churchwards
in haste. But to-day it halted for the most part at
the church-porch, and went no further.

Who first whispered the news is disputed. It is
conjectured that Mrs. Tripp, whose cow supplied
“ The Bower ” with milk, learnt the facts from the
buttoned youth when she paid her professional call
at 7.30 a.m. ; but none knew for certain. I might
here paint Mrs. Tripp full of tongues, and dress her
up as “ Rumour,” after the best epic models; but
in saying that she had the usual number of lips and
hands, that her parents were respectable, and that
she never shrieked from a lofty tower in her life, I
only do her the barest justice.

This much is sure — that among the knot of loungers

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at the church-gate such sentences as the following
passed from mouth to mouth—

“ Es et true, do ’ee think? ”

“ Certain — carr’ge an’ pair from Five Lanes las’
night — not a word said.”

“ My ! w

“ Ef so, this town’s been purtily robbed.”

“ That’s a true word.”

Then this happened —

The Trojan in broadcloth heard, as he passed, the
words of the Trojan in corduroy; inquired, shook his
head, and walked on ; doubted ; turned back to hear
more ; consulted his wife ; and decided to go and
see.

The consequence was that at ten minutes to eleven
the stream of church-goers descending along the
Parade was met by another stream rolling towards
“ The Bower ” and every moment gathering volume.
As there was no place of worship in this direction, a
conference followed the confluence. The church¬
goers turned, joined the larger stream, and the whole
flood poured uphill.

Outside “ The Bower ” they halted for a moment.
One tradesman, a furniture dealer, bolder than the
rest, advanced to the front-door and knocked.

The boy in buttons answered with a white face.
In a moment the truth was out.

This whisper among the crowd grew to a murmur,
the murmur to a roar. In vain the church-bell tolled
out the single note that summons ’the parson. The
dismay of the cheated town waxed to hot indignation.
Even Miss Limpenny, issuing from her front door,
heard the news, and returned in a stupor to watch

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matters from her bedroom window. She had not
missed a morning service for fourteen years.

Then as if by one impulse passion gave way to
action. Like an invading army the townspeople
poured in at the gate, trampling the turf and crushing
the flower-beds. They forced the front door (whence
the page fled, to hide in the cellar), pushed into the
hall, swarmed into the drawing-room — upstairs — all
over the house.

Only in the bedrooms were there signs of a hasty
flight; but they were enough. The strangers had
decamped. There was a pause of indecision, but
for no long time.

“ Sunday or no Sunday,” screamed the choleric
upholsterer, “ every stick of mine will I take off this
morning ! "

He tucked up his sleeves, and, flinging open the
French window of the drawing-room, caught up an
arm-chair, and began to drag it out towards the lawn.

A cheer followed. The Trojan blood was up.

It was the signal for a general sack. Flinging off
his Sunday coat, each deluded tradesman seized upon
his property, or ransacked the house until he found
it. The ironmonger caught up his fire-irons, the
carpenter pulled down his shelves, the grocer dived
into the pantry and emerged with tea and candles.
It is said that the coal-merchant — who was a dandy
— procured a sack, and with his own hand emptied
the coal-cellar within half an hour.

As each fresh article was confiscated, the crowd
cheered anew.

Never was such a scene in Troy. Even the local
aristocracy — the Cumeelfo — mingled with the throng

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Troy Town

and watched the havoc as curiously as their
neighbours.

No member of the Buzza family was there, nor
Mr. Moggridge. But few others did Miss Limpenny
fail to perceive as she sat with hands hanging limply
and mourned to Lavinia —

“ What disgrace ! What a lasting blemish upon
our society ! There goes Hancock with the music-
stool. To run away just before quarter-day, and

they so refined to all appearance, so - My dear,

they will have the house down. Papa told me once

that during the Bristol riots - I declare, there’s

the Doctor looking on ! I wonder how he can.”

And the poor lady hid her face in her hands.

By half past twelve all was over, and “ The Bower ”
stripped of every article of furniture or consumption
for which the money was owing. And yet, to the
honour of Troy, no single theft or act of wanton
destruction was perpetrated. Save for the trampled
flowers and marks of dusty boots upon the carpets,
the house was left as it stood on the day when Mr.
and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys arrived. It should be
mentioned, perhaps, that Seth Udy's httle boy was
detected with his fist in a jar of moist sugar ; but Mrs.
Udy, it was remarked, was a Penpoodle woman.

The sack was accomplished ; and the crowd, heated
but conscious of a duty done, was returning with the
spoil, when towards the north a white glare leapt
into the heaven and as suddenly vanished. In a
moment or so a dull roar followed, and the earth
shuddered underfoot.

Troy trembled. It remembered its neglected
Sabbath, and trembled again.

247

CHAPTER XXII

IN WHICH SEVERAL ATTEMPTS ARE MADE TO PUT
A PERIOD TO THIS HISTORY

The congregation at St. Symphorian’s on this
memorable Sunday morning numbered nine persons.
Possibly this was the reason why, against all prece¬
dent, the Vicar’s sermon terminated at “ thirdly.”

Woman has been stated so often, and by such
capable observers, to be more inquisitive than man,
that I will content myself with establishing an
exception. Of these nine persons, five were women,
and the remainder held the salaried posts of organist,
organ-blower, pew-opener, and parish-clerk. Of the
women, one was Tamsin Dearlove. It is note¬
worthy that Caleb spent his morning at “ The Bower.”

Service was over, and Tamsin was rowing home¬
wards. She was alone ; for Troy was not the Dear-
loves’ parish, and the Twins attended their own
church — being, indeed, churchwardens. As she pulled
quietly upwards, a shade of thought rested on her
pretty face. I do not know of what she was thinking ;
and may add that if I did, I should not tell you. I
would as lief rob a church.

She had passed the jetties, and was pulling her
left paddle to turn the corner off Kit’s House, when
a flash crossed the heaven from behind her, and in
an instant followed that rending explosion which
(at different distances) has been twice presented to

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the reader, and with pardonable pride ; for the story
of Troy has now a catastrophe as well as episodes,
and is vindicated as a theme.

As soon as the throbbing of the atmosphere and
the buzzing in her ears began to die away, two swift
thoughts crossed her brain. Oddly enough, the
first was for the safety of Kit’s House. She glanced
over her shoulder. A mere film of smoke hung over
the creek, and to the right of this she saw the house
standing, seemingly unharmed. Then came the
second thought —

If the explosion came from the creek, where the
light smoke hung, there would be a wave.

She half turned on the thwart and looked intently.

Yes. It was curling towards her, widening from
the creek’s mouth, and arching with a hateful crest.
On it came, a dark and glossy wall ; and she knew
that if it broke or caught her boat in the least aslant,
she must be either swamped or overset.

With a sound that was half a sob and half a prayer
she grasped her paddles and, still looking over her
shoulder, gently moved the boat's nose to face it.

A moment, and it rose above her, hissing death;
another, and the boat was caught high in air, tottered
on the summit, and then with a shiver shot swiftly
down into the trough beyond — safe.

A second wave followed, and a third, but with
less peril. She was still tossed, but as she saw that
mass of water hurled upon the shore, and sweeping
angrily but with broken force towards the harbour,
she knew that she could thank Heaven for her
escape.

She pulled towards the creek. Already the air

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was clear; but as she glanced again her eye missed
something familiar. And then it struck her that
the old schooner had gone. At that instant, as if
in confirmation, a shattered board bumped against
the boat’s side. She looked, and noticed that far
and near the water was strewn with such fragments.

She was pausing for a second to consider, when she
caught sight of a black object lying on the mud
beside the shore, and with a short cry fell to rowing
with all her strength. She guided the boat as nearly
up to it as the mud allowed, and then, catching up
her skirts, jumped into the ooze and waded.

It was Mr. Fogo; but whether dead or alive she
could not say. Down on the mud she knelt, and,
turning him gently over, looked into his face. It
was streaked with slime, and powdered with a yellow¬
ish flake, as of sand. His locks were singed most
pitifully. She started up, took him by the shoulders,
and tried to drag him up to the firmer shingle.

Mr. Fogo opened his eyes and shut them again,
feebly.

“Not dead! Oh! thank Heaven you are not dead.”

With a sob she dropped again beside him, and
brushed the flaked powder from his eye-lashes.

He opened his eyes again.

“Would you mind speaking up? I — I think I
am a little deaf.”

“ I thought you were dead,” she cried, in a louder
tone.

“ No-o, I am not dead. Oh ! no ; decidedly I am
not dead. It — it was the Tea, I fancy.”

He added this apologetically, much as some
gentlemen are wont to plead “ the salmon.”

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Troy Town

Apparently believing the explanation sufficient,
he shut his eyes again, and seemed inclined to go to
sleep.

“The Tea?” questioned Tamsin, chafing his
hands.

“ Or the Honey, perhaps — or the Putty,” he
answered drowsily. Then, opening his eyes and
sitting up with a start, “ Upon my soul, I don’t know
which. It called itself Tea, but I'm — bound — to —
admit - ”

He was nodding again. Utterly perplexed, Tamsin
leant back and regarded him.

" Can you walk, if you lean on my arm ? ”

“ Walk? Oh ! yes, I can walk. Why not? ”

But it seemed that he was mistaken ; for, in attempt¬
ing to start, he groped about for a bit and then sat
down suddenly. Tamsin helped him to his feet.

The reader has long ago guessed the cause of the
catastrophe. It was dynamite — conspirators’ dyna¬
mite, and therefore ill-prepared. Now dynamite,
when it explodes, acts, we are told, with " local
partiality ” ; and of this term we may remark —

That it is given as an explanation by men of science,

Without being a “scientific" explanation;

But is, in fact, a " metaphysical " explanation,

And therefore no explanation at all of

The astonishing fact that dynamite hits one thing and
does not hit another.

In the case of Mr. Fogo, his top-hat had vanished,
but the brim still clung to his head, like a halo. His
spectacles and one boot had gone; the other boot
was unlaced. His coat was split up the back, and
his collar had broken away, but his tie was barely
disarranged. He has since declared that he left the

Troy Town

schooner with two-and-sixpence in his trowser pocket,
and came ashore with two-and-a-penny ; but this
was in an account delivered to a scientific audience,
and is thought to have been a joke.

From head to foot he was besmeared with black
mud; for the rotten stem must have parted and
fallen with the first touch of the explosion, so that
the wave caught him as he toppled out, and flung
him at once upon the shallows. But Tamsin’s
Sunday frock was already mined. She made him
rest his hand on her shoulder, and so, with one arm
thrown round him for steadiness, led him down the
beach, and with infinite difficulty got him across the
mud and into the boat.

She managed to push off at last, and pulled rapidly
across for Kit’s House. Hitherto Mr. Fogo’s con¬
dition had slightly resembled a drunken stupor ; but
now he shivered violently and looked about him.

“ Where ami?”

“ Safe and sound, I hope.”

He passed his hand over his eyes and shivered again.

“ I remember. Something — blew up, did it not ?
The canister, I think.”

She nodded encouragingly.

“ Where did you come from? ” he asked abruptly.

“ From church.”

" Oh ! from church. Do you know, I’m very
glad to see you — I am, indeed, I hope you’ll come

often, now that - Excuse me,” he broke off with

a weak smile, “ but I fancy I’m talking nonsense.”

She nodded again.

“lam aching all over,” he added with a shiver.

She pulled the boat up to the little quay. “Now

252

"With infinite difficulty gSot him acro4i /Ac mud-

253

Troy Town

I wonder where Caleb is,” she said to herself, as she
stood up and looked around ; “ but he’s like most
men, always in the way or out of the way.” She
turned suddenly with a white face. “ Caleb was not
with you ? ”

To her hearty relief Mr. Fogo understood the
question and shook his head. She helped him ashore.
Though he walked with pain, he made an obvious
effort to lighten his weight on her shoulder ; and this
returning bashfulness was a good sign, she thought.
They passed slowly up the steps; at the top he
acknowledged her help with a grateful look, but
neither spoke until he was seated in a chair by the
kitchen fireplace.

Then she withdrew her attention for a moment
to glance round upon the clumsy appliances and
masculine untidiness of the place. She noticed that
fully half the window-panes had been shattered by
the explosion; but otherwise the house had barely
suffered.

“ Is there any brandy or whiskey in the house ? ”

He shook his head.

“ If you want to drink - ” he began, but stopped

hastily and added, “ I beg your pardon.”

“ Is there any tea ? ”

He pointed to the cupboard, but dropped his arm
with a groan. She was at his side in a moment.

“ Now, listen to me. You are not to stir or speak,
but only to nod or shake your head when I ask a
question. Do you understand? ”

He nodded.

“ That’s right.”

She stepped to the cupboard, produced the tea

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Troy Town

and a box of matches ; then, stooping down, rekindled
the fire with the help of some sticks which she found
in the oven, and put the kettle on the flame. This
done, she sought and found the tea-things.

“ Milk ? ” she asked.

He nodded towards a blue jug on the mantel-shelf.

“ Milk on the mantel-shelf ! That’s like a man.”

But at this point the kettle began to boil. She
filled the tea-pot, and replaced the kettle on the hob.
As she turned, she was aware of a clearer look in
Mr. Fogo’s eyes. She smiled and nodded.

“ You are better.”

“ Much. I can remember it all, after a fashion.
Did I talk nonsense ? ”

“ A little.” She smiled again.

His eyes followed her as she moved about the
kitchen. Presently he said — -

“ You are very good to me.”

" I think I am.”

“ Tamsin - ”

She turned suddenly to the table, and caught up
the teapot.

“ Do you know,” she asked, “ that tea is worthless
if it stands for more than five minutes ? ”

She filled a cup, and gave it to him with a hand
that trembled slightly. He sipped, and scalded his lip.

“ Tamsin - ”

“ My name is Dearlove,” she said shortly, “ and
you are spilling the tea.”

There was silence for a minute or so. Mr. Fogo
stirred his tea abstractedly. Tamsin, whose shoes
were soaked, put one foot upon the fender, and bent
her gaze upon the fire.

0

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Troy Town

“ I would give something,” observed Mr. Fogo
suddenly, in desperate reverie, “ to know how other
people manage it. It was moonlight when I proposed
to Geraldine. I began by squeezing her hand, if I
remem - ”

He looked up, and found her regarding him with
eyes ablaze.

But luckily at this moment the door opened, and
Caleb appeared. He was evidently much agitated;
but at sight of Tamsin and the woeful figure in the
armchair, he halted on the threshold and stared
dumbly.

“ I think,” said Tamsin, “ you had better put your
master to bed.”

“ Mussy ’pon us, what’s been doin’ ? ”

Briefly she told as much as she knew. With each
successive sentence Caleb’s mouth and eyes opened
wider.

“ And now,” she ended, " as Peter and Paul have
been waiting for their dinner this half-hour, I will
be going. Don’t trouble to come with me; but
attend to your master. Good-morning, sir.”

She dropped him a low curtsey and was gone. He
started up.

‘‘Where be goin’, sir? Sit down; you’m not fit
to stir.”

But Mr. Fogo had passed him, and was out of the
room in a moment. In spite of the pain that racked
every limb, he overtook Tamsin in the porch.

“ What are you doing? ” she cried. “ Go back to
bed.”

As she faced him, he could see that her eyes were
full of angry tears. The sight checked him.

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Troy Town

" It’s — it’s of no consequence,” he stammered,
" only I was going to ask you to be my wife.”

For answer she turned on her heel, and walked
resolutely down the steps.

Mr. Fogo stood and watched her until she dis¬
appeared, and then crawled painfully back into the
house.

” An’ now, sir,” said Caleb, as he led his master
to bed, “ warnin’ et es. This day month, I goes,
unless - ”

“ Unless what, Caleb ? ”

” Well, sir, I reckons there be on’y wan way out
o’t, as the cat said by the sausage-machine, an’ that
es — to marry Tamsin Dearlove.”

“ My dear Caleb,” groaned Mr. Fogo, “ I only
wish I could ! But I will try again to-morrow.”

CHAPTER XXIII

HOW ONE LOVER TOOK LEAVE OF HIS WITS, AND
TWO CAME TO THEIR SENSES

But Mr. Fogo was not to try again on the morrow.

For Caleb, stealing up in the grey dawn to assure
himself that his master was comfortably asleep,
found him tossing in a high fever, and rowed down
to Troy for dear life and the Doctor. Returning,
he found that the fever had become delirium. Mr.
Fogo, indeed, was sitting up in bed, and rattling off
proposals of marriage at the rate of some six a minute,
without break or pause. He was very red and
earnest, rolled his eyes most strangely, and wandered
in his address from Tamsin to Geraldine, and back
again with a vehemence that gravelled all logic.

“ Lord ha’ mussy ! ” cried Caleb at last. “ Do
’ee hush, that’s a dear. 'Tes sinful — all these gallons
o’ true affecshun a-runnin’ to waste. You’m too
lovin’ by half, as Sam said when hes wife got hugged
by a bear. What do ’ee think, sir ? ”

The last sentence was addressed to the little
Doctor, who, after staring at the patient for some
minutes without noticeable result, nodded his head,
announced that the fever must run its course, and
promised to send a capable nurse up to Kit’s House
without delay.

“ Beggin’ your pard’n, Doctor,” interposed Caleb
with firmness, “ but I’ve a-got my orders.”

“ Eh? ”

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Troy Town

“ I've a-got my orders. Plaise God, an’ wi’ plenty
o’ doctor’s trade,1 us’ll pull ’un round : but nobody
nusses maaster ’ceptin’ you an’ me — leastways, no
womankind.”

“ This is nonsensical.”

“ Nonsensical, do ’ee say? Look 'ee here. Doctor;
do 'ee think I’d trust a woman up here wi’ maaster
a-makin’ offers o’ marriage sixteen to the dozen ?
Why, bless ’ee, sir, her’d be down an’ ha’ the banns
called afore night, an’ maaster not fit to shake hes
head, much less say as the Prayer Books orders — ‘ I
renounce mun all.’ That’s a woman, Doctor, an’ ef
any o’ the genteel sex sets foot on Kit’s beach I’ll —
I’ll stone her.”

The Doctor gave way in the end and withdrew,
promising another visit before evening. When he
returned, however, at five in the afternoon, he found,
with some wonder, a woman quietly installed in the
sick-room. It happened thus : —

Barely an hour after the Doctor’s departure, Caleb,
sitting at his master's bedside, heard footsteps on
the gravel walk, and looked out of window.

“Hist!” he called softly; and Peter Dearlove,
followed by Paul, stepped round the angle of the
house into s:ght. The Twins bore a look of the
gravest perplexity and a large market basket.

“ Hulloa ! ” said Caleb, “ what’s up? ”

The pair looked at each other. At length Peter
began with a serious face and unwonted formality of
tone —

“ Es Mr. Fogo wi’in ? ”

“ Why, iss,” Caleb allowed, “ he’s inside.”

1 Medicine.

K 2 259

Troy Town

“ We was a-wishin’ to request o’ the pleasure ” —
here Peter looked at Paul, who nodded — “ the pleasure
o’ an interval o’ five minnits.”

“ Interview,” corrected Paul.

“ I misdoubts,” answered his brother, “ that 3Tou
are wrong, Paul. I remember the expresshun ’pon
the programme o’ a Sleight o’ Hand Entertainment,
an’ there et said ‘ Interval ’ — * An Interval o’ Five
Minnits.’ ”

“ Ef that’s so,” broke in Caleb from above with
fine irony, “ p’raps you wudn’ mind handin’ up your
visitin’ cards an’ doin’ the thing proper. At present
maaster’s busy.”

“Busy? ”

“ Iss. A-makin’ proposals o’ marriage — which es
a serious thing, an’ not to be interrupted.”

The Twins set down the basket and stared at each
other. Paul was the first to recover.

“ Ef ’tes fully allowable to put the question, Peter
an’ me wud like to knaw the young leddy’s name.
’Tes makin' bould to ax, but there’s a reason.”

“ Well,” said Caleb, disappearing for a moment
and then poking his head forth again, “ at the present
moment ’tes a party answerin’ to the name o’

Geraldin’. A minnit agone 'twas - But maybe

you’d better step up an’ see for yoursel’.”

“ What ! ”

“ Step up an’ see.”

“ Now, Peter,” said the Twin, turning from Caleb
to contemplate his brother, “ puttin’ the case (an’
far be et from me to say et cudn’ be) as you was
payin’ your addresses to a young leddy answerin’
to the name o’ Geraldin’ (which she wudn’ be call’d

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that, anyway), an’ puttin’ the case as you was a-
makin’ offers o’ marriage, an’ a pair o’ twin-brothers
(same as you an’ me might be) walked up to the
front door an’ plumped in afore you’d well finished
talkin’ o’ the weather-prospec’s (bein’ a slow man,
though a sure) — now, what I wants to knaw es, wud
’ee like et yoursel’ ? ”

“ No, I shudn’.”

“ Well, I reckon’d not. An’ that bein’ so, Go’s
the word.”

“ Afore Peter ta'ks ’bout gettin' a wife,” broke in
Caleb, “ he’d better read ’bout Peter’s wife’s mother.
She was sick wi’ a fever, I’ve heerd, an’ so’s maaster.
Ef you don’t believe, walk up an’ see; 'cos ’tain’t
good for a sick man to ha’ all this palaverin’ outside
lies windey.”

The Twins stared, whispered together, took off
their boots, and softly entered the house. At the
door of the sick-room Caleb met them.

“ Brain fever,” he whispered, “ which es on’y
catchin’ for them as has brains to catch et wi’.”

The trio stood together at the foot of the bed on
which Mr. Fogo tossed and chattered. Peter and
Paul looked from the sick man to their hats, and back
again in silence. At length the elder Twin spoke —

‘‘I’ the matter o’ behavin’ rum, some folks does
it wi’ cause an’ others not so. But I reckons ef you
allows as there’s likely a cause, you’m ’pon the safe
side — 'speshully wi’ Mr. Fogo. Wherefore, Caleb,
what’s the meanin’ o’ this here? ”

“ Tamsin ! ”

The answer came so pat from the sick man’s lips
that Peter fairly jumped. Caleb looked up with

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linger on lip and a curious smile on his weather-tanned
face.

“ Don’t leave me ! Look ! There are devils
around me— cold white devils — devils with blank
faces — no features, only flesh. Look ! Sunday,
Monday, Tuesday — every day with a devil, every
day in the year — look, look ! ”

“Pore soul!” whispered Paul; “an’ ’tes Leap
Year, too, which makes wan extry.”

“ Don’t leave me, Tamsin — don’t leave me ! ”

The sick man’s voice rose to a scream. Caleb bent
forward and tried to soothe him. The mahogany faces
of the Twins were blanched. They whispered apart —

“ You was right, Peter.”

“ Aye, more’s the pity. I thought the lass mis-
liked ’un — the bigger fool I. ’Twas on’y yestiddy I
guessed more was troublin’ her than her soiled gown,
an’ tax’d her wi’ et. We used to pride oursel’ on
knawin’ her wants afore her spoke — an’ now - ”

Peter weakly concluded with a sigh.

“ Bring Tamsin down an’ help me here,” said Caleb,
from across the room.

The pair started.

“ That es,” he went on, “ ef she’ll come. You
heerd maaster ? Well, he said purty much the same
to her yestiddy; so her won’t be frightened. Least-
ways, go an’ say you’m cornin’ yoursel’ to help nuss ;
’cos ef you won’t I’ll nuss ’un alone, an’ ef that’s the
case, you’m a queer pair o’ Christians, as the Devil
said to the two black pigs.”

“ Fact es,” hesitated Peter, “ I’d a-larnt so much
las’ evenin’ from Tamsin, though she were main loth
to tell ; an Paul agreed as we’d call this mornin’ an’

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tell Mr. Fogo as ’twarn’t right for 'n to set lies thoughts
'pon Tamsin, who isn’ a leddv, nor to put notions in
her head as ’ll gi’e her pain hereafter. An’ that’s all
’bout et ; an’ us brought a whack o’ vegetable produce
’long wi’ us, jes’ to show there was no ill-feelin’s.
But as et turns out, neither argyment nor vegetables
bein’ acceptable to a party that’s sick wi’ a fever, I
be clane floored for what to do.”

“ Well, now, I’ve a-told ’ee. An’ don’t let the
grass grow ’neath your feet, 'cos 'twill grow fast
enough over your heads some day.”

The Twins, unable to cope with Caleb’s determina¬
tion, stole noiselessly out. And thus it was that
when, late in the afternoon, the little Doctor returned,
he found Peter and Paul, in large blue aprons, busily
helpless downstairs, and Tamsin, bright-eyed and
warm of cheek, seated by the sick man’s bedside.

On the following morning, which the reader, should
he care to calculate, will find to be Tuesday, Admiral
Buzza dropped his newspaper with a start, and glared
across the breakfast-table.

“ What is it, my love? ” inquired his wife. “ No¬
thing wrong, I hope ? ”

“ Wrong? Oh ! no,” replied the Admiral grimly,
“ nothing — wrong. Oblige me by listening to this,
madam.” He took up the paper and read aloud :

“ANOTHER DYNAMITE PLOT.

A WHOLE TOWN DECEIVED — EXTRA¬
ORDINARY PROCEEDINGS.

ESCAPE OF THE SUSPECTED PERSONS.

THE DYNAMITE FIENDS STILL AT LARGE.

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“The existence of another of these atrocious con¬
spiracies aimed at the security of our public buildings
and the safety of peaceful citizens, has been brought
to light by certain recent occurrences at the romantic
little seaport town of Troy. We have reason to
believe that the suspicions of the police have been
for some time aroused ; and it is to their unaccount¬
able dilatoriness we owe it that the conspirators have
for the time made good their escape and still continue
to menace our lives and property. It appears that
some months back a couple, giving the names of the
Honourable Mr. and Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys— ”

[“ Really, Samuel, if you cannot eat an ordinary
egg without clattering the spoon in that unseemly
manner, I must ask you to suspend your meal until
I have finished.”]

“ appeared at Troy as tenants of one of the most
fashionable villa residences in that town. The elite
[ahem] of the neighbourhood, too easily cajoled [h’m],
and little suspecting their villainous designs, received
the newcomers with open arms and a lamentable lack
of inquisitiveness.”

“ Well, really,” put in Mrs. Buzza, “ I don’t know
what they call ‘ inquisitiveness ’ ; if a brass tele¬
scope - Why, Sam, dear, how pale you are ! ”

Through the gross carelessness, we can hardly
bring ourselves to say the connivance, of the Custom
House officials, they were allowed to land with im¬
punity a considerable quantity of dynamite, with
which on Saturday night they decamped. Their

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disappearance remained unsuspected up to a late
hour on Sunday morning, when ‘ The Bower ’ was
visited, and (to borrow the words of the great master
of prose) non sunt inventi. The neatness with which
the escape was executed points to the disquieting
conclusion that they did not want for assistance.”

“ I’ll ask you to excuse me,” said Sam, rising
abruptly and leaving the room. A sick terror
possessed his heart ; visions of the dock and the
felon’s cell followed him as he picked up his hat and
crept into the street. Outside, the morning was
serene, with the promise of a broiling noon ; but as
far as Sam was concerned, Egyptian darkness would
have been better. He shivered : at the corner of
the street he met the local policeman and winced.

But far, far worse was it with Mr. Moggridge, to
whose lodgings his steps were bending. The Poet,
as Sam entered, was seated as nearly as possible on
the small of his back before the breakfast table. If
mental anguish can be expressed by unkempt hair
and a disordered cravat, that of Mr. Moggridge was
extreme ; and the untasted bloater, pushed aside and
half concealed by the newspaper, was full of lurid
significance.

Sam paused at the door. The two friends had
barely spoken for more than a month. Three days
ago they had all but fought. All this, however, was
forgotten now.

“ Is that you, Sam ? Come in.”

Then, having displayed the olive-branch, the Poet
waved the newspaper feebly, and groaned.

“ Moggridge, old man - ”

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“ Sam ! ”

“ What a pair of asses we have been ! ”

The Poet moaned, and pointed to the paper.

“ I know,” nodded Sam; “ is it true, d’ye think? ”

“ My heart forebodes,” said Mr. Moggridge, collaps¬
ing still further — “ my heart forebodes ’tis true, 'tis
true ; then deck my shroud about with rue, and lay
me ’neath the dismal— — ”

“Pooh!” broke in Sam; “stuff and nonsense,
man ! It’s bad for you, I know, but after all I’m the
sufferer.”

The Collector of Customs turned a glassy stare
upon him.

“ I carried the bag up to Five Lanes; I put the
infernal stuff into her very hands; / - ”

“ You ? ”

Sam nodded desperately. “ She asked me to elope
with her — to meet her at Five Lanes.”

Mr. Moggridge staggered up to his feet, and fumbled
in his waistcoat pocket.

“ You are mad ! ” he gasped. “ She asked me to
elope with her — me to meet her at the top of Troy
Hill. Look here ! ” He held out a crumpled letter.
Sam took it, glanced at it, produced an exactly
similar note, and handed it to his friend.

They read each the other’s letter sentence by
sentence, and in doleful antiphon. At the conclusion
they looked up, and met each other’s gaze ; whereat
Mr. Moggridge smote his brow and cried —

“ False, false ! ”

While Sam pushed his hands deep into his trouser-
pockets and emitted a long breath, as though, his cup
being full, he must needs blow off the froth.

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“ Do you mean to say,” he asked, after a pause,
“ that you helped her to land the stuff? ”

“ I thought it was Tea.”

” And you never examined it ? ”

“ She told me it was Tea.”

“ Moggridge, you have been given away, as the
Yankees put it. I have been sold, which is bad;
but you have been ' given away,’ which is worse.”

“ You were sold for 1 love,’ which is pretty much
the same, I take it, as being given away,” objected
the Poet testily.

“ Not at all the same, Moggridge, as being given
away — with half a pound of Tea.”

267

CHAPTER XXIV

OF THE BEST HELLEBORE; AND AN EXPERIMENT
IN THE ENTERTAINMENT OF TWINS

For three days Mr. Fogo continued to propose. On
the evening of the third day the little Doctor shook
his head. After this, for about a week, Mr. Fogo
proposed and the Doctor shook his head at intervals.
Finally, and in the middle of a sentence, the patient
fell into a deep slumber.

When he awoke, it was to the conviction that he,
Mr. Fogo, being a bolster, had been robbed of his
rightful stuffing by some person or persons unknown.
He had lain for some time pondering this situation
with a growing resentment, when he was aware of
some one sitting between him and the sunshine.

“ Who are you? ” he asked.

“ I am Tamsin Dearlove.”

The remark made by Diogenes under somewhat
like circumstances would have been ungallant. In
the process of searching for a better the sick man fell
asleep again.

What happened on his next return to consciousness
shall be given in his own words. He told me the
story last autumn : —

“ You see,” he explained shyly, “ I have not, my
dear young friend, that ingenuity of phrase which I
so admire in you ” (I protest I have not the heart
to suppress this tribute), “ but seeing that, in such
a case, experience counts for something — and natur-

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ally, at your age, you have yet to learn what it is to
propose to a woman — I think I had better tell you
exactly what happened, the more so as it is a matter
which, if, as you assure me, necessary to your chronicle,
I desire to be related with accuracy. I am not, you
understand, in the least reflecting on your love of
truth, but, after all, I did, as the obnoxious phrase
has it, ' propose ’ to Tamsin, whereas you — ahem —
did not.”

I am convinced my friend meant to say “ would
not have had the infernal impudence,” but softened
the expression, being habitually careful of the feelings
of others.

“ When I awoke again,” he went on, “ she was
seated in the window, knitting. I lay for a long
while watching her — indeed, this is my first impres¬
sion — before I made any sign. The sunshine — it was
morning — fell on her head as she bent over her
needles, and emphasised that peculiar bloom of gold
which (you may have noticed) her brown locks
possess. Her lashes, too, as they drooped upon a
cheek pale (as I could perceive) beyond its wont, had
a glimmer of the same golden tint. Altogether I
thought her more beautiful than I ever imagined ;
and to this day,” he added in an outburst of confidence,
“ I frequently decoy her to a seat in the sunlight,
that I may taste a renewal of the sensations I enjoyed
that morning. Some day, perhaps, you will be better
able to sympathise with this caprice.

“ I had been lying thus for some time, luxuriously
drinking in her loveliness, when her eyes lifted and
met mine. And then— well, I can hardly tell you
what happened then, except that I do not believe

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a word was spoken on either side. I suppose our
eyes had told enough. Anyhow, the next thing I
remember is that my dear girl’s head was on my
breast, and one arm flung across the pillow that
supported my head. I have a dim recollection, too,
of trying to smooth her hair, and finding my strength
too feeble even for that. That is all, I think ; except
that we were ludicrously happy, of course — Tamsin
smiling with moist eyes, while I lay still and let the
joy of it trickle in my veins. I am extremely obliged
to you, my dear young friend, for not laughing out¬
right at this confession. It encourages me to add,
for exactness, that Tamsin kept putting her hand up
to the back of her head. She has since explained
that she felt sure her ‘ back-hair ' was coming down.
Women are curious creatures.

“ Let me resume. In the midst of what used to be
called a ‘ love passage,’ the door opened, and in
walked Peter Dearlove with a basin of beef-tea. So
quietly did he enter, that the first announcement of
his presence was a terrific sound which my experience
can compare with nothing unless it be whooping-
cough — the whooping-cough of a robust adult.

“ ‘ This,’ he remarked, setting down the tray and
eyeing Tamsin severely, * ain’t nussin’ properly so
called.’

“ I do not think we made any answer to this.

“ ‘ Ef a name es to be found for ’t, ’tain’t so much
“ nussin’ ” as “ goin’s on.” ’

“ ‘ Your sister has promised to be my wife,’ I
ventured.

“ ‘ Beggin’ your pard’n, sir, but the Catechism has
summat to say to that.’

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The Catechism? ’

Iss, sir — “that stashun o’ life.” An’ not a
word 'bout raisin’ et, even by th’ use o’ globes —
which some considers unekalled.’

“ I put out my hand to cover Tamsin’s, and looked
up into her face before I answered him with some
heat —

“ ‘ I won’t affect to misunderstand you. You
mean that I am marrying beneath me ? ’

“ He hesitated.

“ ‘ There’s two meanin’s to “ beneath.” ’

“ ‘ Ah ! ’ I cried, ‘ I am glad you see that.’

“ He looked at me slowly and continued —

“ ‘ Second p’int. Not so long agone you was
talkin’ of a Geraldin ’.’

“ I glanced at Tamsin again and comprehended.

“ ‘ I have been talking - ? ’

“ She nodded.

“ ‘ And you know it all— the whole story? ’

“ She nodded again, with a world of healing pity
in her eyes. Then, with a swift glance at her brother,
she stooped and kissed me.

“ ‘ Oh ! ’ said Peter, very shortly; ‘ I’m thinkin’
I'd best see Paul ’bout this ; ’ and with that he
disappeared.

“ Whereupon,” concluded Mr. Fogo, “ I think I
must have dropped asleep again, for I remember
nothing after this — at least, nothing that is worth
mention.”

It is quite true that Mr. Fogo dropped asleep. He
slept, moreover, for a considerable time, and awoke
to find Caleb seated beside the bed,

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“ Where is Tam — Miss Dearlove ? ” he asked.

“ There ain’t no Dearlove, as I knaws by, called
Tammis. The males was chris’n’d Peter an’ Paul,
the female Thomasina : an’ they’m gone.”

“ Gone? ”

“ Gone, an’ left we like Hocken’s duck, wi’out mate
or fellow.”

“ How long? ”

“ Matter o’ five hour’.”

There was a long silence.

“ Caleb ! ”

“ Aye, aye, sir.”

“ How long do you think it will be before I can get
about — be fit to go downstairs, I mean? ”

“ Well, sir, I reckon et depends on yoursel’. Try,
an’ ’twill come, as the Doctor said when Bill swallered
’arf-a-crown an’ wanted to get et up agen by Lady-
Day, rent bein’ doo.”

“ Do you think a week would do it? ”

“ Better say a fortni’t, sir.”

“ What dav is it to-day? ”

“ Thursday.”

“ Have I been ill for two days? ”

“ For a fortni’t an’ two days.”

“ Bless my soul ! ”

“ Amen, sir.”

“ Caleb, would you mind writing a letter for
me?”

Caleb had no objection ; and the composition that
followed may be given in full, for works of divided
authorship have always possessed an interest of their
own from the days of Homer, Homer and Homer
downwards : —

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“ Hond Twins, —

“ Mr. Fogo’s complements to the pare of You
not forgetting Miss Thomasina and shall be glad if
you will all Dine with me at 7 p.m. in the evening
precisely on This day (Wensdy) fortunite. You
will be glad to heer that I am recuvering fast
thanks to your care and kindness which Is his own
words and Gospel truth and so No more at present
from yours to command

“ P. Fogo, Esq.

“ per C. Trotter.

“ Knowing whats up with the kitchin range you
wont look for much of A dinner.”

The answer was brought up by Paul Dearlove
early, next morning. It ran : —

“ Respectd Sir, —

“ This is thanking you for your kind and wel¬
come letter just reed, and shall be proud to accept of
the invitation in the spirit in which it is given you must
not mind the kitchin range please as between them
that knows all about it having difficulties at times
with the beef tea which trusting you will overlook
we remain

“ Your obedt servts
(signed) “ Peter Dearlove.

“ Paul Dearlove.

“ Thomasina has gone into Troy or would have
signed too.”

To a certain extent this was satisfactory; and
Mr. Fogo endeavoured to possess his soul in patience,

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and recover with all speed. It was weary work at
first, but as the sick man really began to mend he
found much interest in discussing with Caleb the
preparations for the feast.

“ We must not be too ambitious, Caleb. Let the
fare be simple — ‘ Persicos odi, puer, apparatus ’ — as
long as it is well cooked and neatly served.”

“ I dunno what you means by ‘ pure apparatus,’ ”
answered Caleb. “ There’s a flaw in the range, as
you knaw; but ’tes so clane as scrubbin’ ’ll make
et.”

And, indeed, when the evening arrived with the
mellow twilight of July, and the Twins with a double
knock, the arrangement of the table, as well as the
smell of cooking which pervaded the front hall, did
Caleb all credit. The dining-room was bare alike of
carpet and pictures, but the floor had been scoured
until the boards glistened whitely ; and two red
ensigns, borrowed by Caleb from the British mercantile
marine, served to hide certain defects in the wall¬
paper.

Here Mr. Fogo sat awaiting his guests; for the
preparation of the drawing-room would have over¬
taxed Caleb’s resources.

“ Miss Thomasina Dearlove, and Messrs. Peter and
Paul ditto ! ”

Mr. Fogo arose with a flush on his wasted cheek,
held Tamsin’s hand for a moment, and then, bending,
kissed it with grave courtesy. She had removed her
hat and cloak in the passage, and now stood before
him in a plain white frock — short-waisted, and of
antique make, perhaps, but little the worse for that.
She wore no ornament but a red rose on her bosom ;

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and if, as I do not believe, a shade of apprehension
had troubled Mr. Fogo, it would have taken flight as
she stood before him, challenging his eyes.

But the Twins !

Like the Austrian army, they were “ awfully
arrayed.” So stiff and shiny indeed was their
apparel, and such mysterious sounds did the slightest
movement draw from their linen, that the beholder
grew presently as uneasy as the wearer. Each wore
a high stock and a collar that cut the ears. The neck¬
cloth of Peter was crimson; of Paul, vivid amber.
The waistcoats of both bore floral devices in primary
colours, and the hands of both were encased in gloves
of white cotton.

Mr. Fogo took heart of grace and bade them
welcome.

“ ’Tes a warm evenin’,” ventured Paul, rubbing a
forefinger round the inside of his collar.

“ Uncommon,” responded Peter, addressing his
brother.

Whereupon, as if by preconcerted signal, they
faced about and made for the two most distant
chairs, on the edges of which they took an uneasy
rest. Peter had brought his hat into the room,
and now, after gazing at it reproachfully for some
moments, began to stow it away beneath him, doing
violence to its brim with the air of one who does not
count the cost. He was relieved by Caleb, who bore
it off with the pleasant remark —

“ Now, then, remember what the old leddy said
to make her guests aisy, ‘Pm at home, an’ I wish
you all were.’ ”

“ Silence, Caleb ! ” said his master.

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“ I— I think,

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as dinner is ready, we may as well be seated at once.
Will you take the head of the table? ” he asked,
turning to Tamsin.

She blushed faintly and moved to her place. The
Twins leapt up, performed a forced march, and took
the table in flank from opposite quarters. Mr. Fogo
looked around.

“ If one of you would say Grace - ”

“ Tamsin says it at home. I taught her mysel’,”
said Peter. “ Now, then, little maid, ‘ For what we
'm about - ’ ”

She spoke the simple Grace and the company sat
down — with the exception of Paul.

Now, Paul’s position at table faced the fireplace,
and as he raised his head after Grace a large text in
red and blue upon the mantelshelf caught his eye,
and held him spell-bound.

“ ‘ Paice on Earth an’ Goodwill to-ward Men!'”
he read. “ Excuse me, sir, but nothin’ more appro¬
priate to the occashun can I imagine. Et does 'ee
credit — ef I may say so.”

He dropped into his seat, and taking off his gloves
laid them beside his glasses. Peter, more cere¬
monious, retained his throughout the meal.

“ I am afraid,” explained their host, “ that the
credit belongs to Caleb, who insisted upon placing
the text there ; and as he had obtained it with con¬
siderable trouble from the Vicar (it was used, I
believe, to decorate St. Symphorian’s last Christmas),
I had not the heart to deny him. But for what are
we waiting? ”

He was answered by the appearance of Caleb, who
marched up to Tamsin with a woeful face, and an-

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nounced in a loud whisper that “ Suthin’ was up wi’
the soup.”

“ I think,” said she, rising, “ if you will let me
help - ”

“ Sutt’nly,” assented Peter in a loud tone. “ To
be sure — that es, beggin’ your pard’n, sir,” he added
apologetically.

“ It is very good of you,” said Mr. Fogo.

“ I should like to help,” she explained, and followed
Caleb to the kitchen.

Somehow, with her absence, an oppressive silence
fell on the three men. Peter coughed at intervals,
and once even began a sentence, but stopped half¬
way. Mr. Fogo did not heed him, but had fallen to
drumming softly writh his spoon upon the table. A
full five minutes passed thus, and then he started to
his feet.

“ Must you really be going ? ”

“ Eh? ”

“ It is early yet ; but I suppose you have some
distance to go? ”

“ What ? ”

“ Let me, at least, help you on with your coats.”

They stared blankly at him. There was a far¬
away look in his eyes, but his speech was quiet and
distinct enough. Like lambs they obeyed, and
marched out into the hall.

“ I am afraid I am too weak to offer much assist¬
ance - ”

“ Don’t 'ee menshun et.”

They resumed their coats, and groped for hats and
sticks. A deep and awful wonder possessed them
both.

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“ The night is fine,” observed their host, as he
opened the door : “ you will have a pleasant journey
home. Goo^-night ! ”

He shook them by the hand as they staggered out,
shut the door upon them, and returned pensively to
the dining-room.

As the door closed behind them, the brothers
looked into each other’s eyes. Paul gave a short
gasp, and leant against a pillar of the verandah.

“ Peter ! ”

“ Paul ! ”

“ Wud ’ee mind pinchin’ me i’ the ca’f o’ the leg,
jes’ to make sure ? ”

“ I was a-goin’ to ax the same favour, Paul.”

“ Well, churchwarden or no churchwarden, I
reckon I am damned ! ”

“ What I complains of in this 'ere fash’nubble
life,” said Peter slowly, “ es this — ’tes too various —
by a sight, too various.”

“ Arter eatin’ next door to nuthin’ all day, so ’s
we mou’t n’ be behindhand in tacklin’ the vittles ! ”

There was an interval of painful stupor.

“ Paul ! ”

“ Peter ! ”

“ Pm reckonin’ up what my hunger’s wuth at this
moment. I dunno as I’d take twenty pund for ’t.”

Inside the house Mr. Fogo had sunk into an arm¬
chair, and was regarding the ceiling with thoughtful
attention. He was aroused by steps in the hall,
and Tamsin re-entered the room, followed by Caleb
with the soup-tureen.

“ Hulloa ! where’s the Twins? ”

“ Eh? ”

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“ Es this a round game, or a conjurin’ trick? ”

“I beg your pardon? ” Mr. Fogo turned a dull
gaze upon him. Caleb set down the tureen with a
crash, and rushing up shook his master gently, but
firmly, by the collar.

“ Where — be — they — Twins? ”

“Oh! The Twins? They have gone — gone some

five minutes. I saw them out. It’s all - - Bless

my soul, how extraordinary, to be sure ! ”

Caleb did not wait for the end of the sentence, but
darting out, discovered the brothers in the porch,
and haled them back.

“ I beg your pardon most heartily,” said Mr. Fogo,
as they appeared ; “ the fact is - ”

“ There’s no call, sir. I reckon us’ll get the grip
o’t wi’ time an’ practice ; on’y bein’ new to the
ropes, so to spake - ”

Mr. Fogo looked at Tamsin. She broke into a
merry laugh.

It snapped the spell. The Twins, who had been
waiting on each other for a lead with the first spoonful
of soup, set down their spoons and joined in, at first
decorously, then with uproar.

“ Talk 'bout fun ! ” gasped Peter at length, with
tears in his eyes, “ Bill Stickles at the Market Ord’nary
can’t match et — an’ he’s reckoned a tip-topper for
fun. An’ this es fash’n ! Well, I never did. Ho,
ho, ho ! ”

From this moment the success of the dinner was
assured. All talked, and talked with freedom. The
brothers threw off their restraint, and were their
natural and well-mannered selves. It is true that
Peter would pause now and again to slap his thigh

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and renew his mirth ; it is true also that he continued
to wear his white gloves throughout the meal. But he
pocketed them when Caleb removed the cloth, and
the company fell into more easy postures.

It was late that evening when the Twins consulted
their watches and rose to go, and as yet nothing had
been said on the subject nearest to Mr. Fogo’s heart.
He motioned them back to their seats.

“ There is still one more question that I must ask
you,” he said, rising and stepping to Tamsin’s side.
“ You guess what it is? ”

“ I mou’t,” admitted Peter slowly.

“ I ask you, then, if Tamsin has your leave to make

me happy. Knowing what it costs you - ”

“ No cost, sir, where our little maid’s happiness es
consarned. Tamsin knaws that, but 't ’as been the
harder to talk wi’ her as us shud ha’ wished, an’ that
there’s no denyin’. Us knawed all along she’d be
leavin’ us some day, an’ oft’n Paul an’ me have a-
made up each other’s mind to ’t. I misdoubts, sir —
I misdoubts sorely — seein’ 'tes you her heart es set

to many — meanin’ no offence, sir. But as ’tes set -

Tamsin, girl, we’ll be goin’, I reckon. I’m thinkin’
I’ve a-parted wi’ enough o’ my heart’s blud for wan
night.”

He moved towards the door, but came back again
to shake hands, with a word of self-reproach for his
lack of courtesy. Then, with a tenderness almost
motherly on his mahogany face —

“ Be gentle wi’ her,” he said. “ She’s quick to
larn — an’ takes cold aisy, which, ef seen to early, a
little nitre will a’most al’ays pervent. Come 'long,
Tamsin.”

280

CHAPTER XXV

WHICH ENDS THE STORY OF TROY

The wedding took place in less than two months’
after Mr. Fogo’s dinner-party. A longer interval
would have proved, I believe, fatal to both Peter
and Paul, who wore themselves thin over small
anxieties, from the trousseau to the cake.

Three days before the wedding, for instance, they
rowed down to Kit’s House and awoke Caleb at
4.30 a.m. by throwing gravel against his window.

“ Oh, ’tes you,” said Caleb, as he thrust open the
lattice; “ what’s amiss now? ”

“ We have been considerin’ which of us two es to
gi’e Tamsin away.”

“ Toss up.”

“ We have tossed up — scores o’ times.”

“ Well? ”

“ The results,” said Peter gravely, “ es versified.”

“What? ”

“ Otherwise, various. The results es various —
inclinin’ to Paul.”

“ Well, let Paul do it.”

“ Peter es oulder,” objected Paul.

“ By dree minnits — which don’t fairly count,” put
in Peter.

“ Peter,” observed Caleb, “ looks th’ oulder — by
full dree minnits.”

“ Paul went to school afore me,” said Peter, “ by
two days — along o’ measles.”

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“ Look ’ere,” decided Caleb, “ let Paul gi’e her
away, an’ you, bein’ the better spokesman, can pro¬
pose th’ health o’ the bride an’ bridegroom.”

This satisfied them, and so it was arranged at the
wedding. I am not going to describe the ceremony
— at which I had the privilege of holding my friend’s
hat — beyond saying that woman, as is usual on these
occasions, was a success, and man a dismal failure.
There was one exception. When little Susie Clemow,
who at Mr. Fogo’s express desire was one of the
bridesmaids, identified the bridegroom with the
strange gentleman who had frightened her in the
lane, and burst into loud screams in the middle of
the service, I could not sufficiently admire the readi¬
ness with which Peter Dearlove produced a packet
of brandy-balls from his tail-pocket to comfort her,
or the prescience which led him to bring such con¬
fectionery to a wedding.

At the breakfast, too, which, owing to the dimen¬
sions of the Dearloves’ cottage, was perforce select,
Peter again shone. In proposing the health of Mr.
and Mrs. Fogo, he said —

“ On an occasion like the present et becomes us
not to repine. These things es sent us for our good ”
(here he looked doubtfully at the cake), “ an’ wan
man’s meat es t’other’s p’ison, w'hich I hopes ”
(severely) “ you knawed wi’out my tellin’ 'ee ; an’
I shudn’ wonder ef Paul an’ me was to draw lots
wan o’ these fine days as to which o’ us shud take the
pledge — I means, the plunge — an’ go an’ scarify
hissel’ 'pon the high menial altar.”

Immense excitement at this point prevailed among
certain elderly spinsters present.

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Troy Town

“ That was a joke,” explained the speaker, with a
sudden and stony solemnity, “an’ I hopes 'twill be
tuk in the sperrit in which ’twas meant. An’ wi’
that I gi’es Tamsin’s health an’ that o’ P. Fogo,
Esquire, to whom she has been this day made man
an’ wife ; an’ bless them an’ their dear offspring ! ”

At this point he was sitting down when Paul leant
across and whispered in his ear.

“ You are right, Paul,” said the orator — “ or off¬
springs. Bless their dear offspring or offsprings — as
the case may be.”

And with this he resumed his seat amid frantic
applause.

The Twins alone escorted the bride and bridegroom
to the railway-station; and with the accident that
there befell, the chronicle of Mr. Fogo’s adventures
may for the present close. While the brothers saw
Tamsin to her carriage, and with their white waist¬
coats and gigantic favours planted awre in the breast
of the travelling public, the bridegroom dived into
the Booking Office to take the tickets for London ;
for Mr. and Mrs. Fogo were to spend some days in
the Metropolis before crossing the Channel.

Now it so happened that in the Booking Office there
hung a gorgeous advertisement of one of the principal
Steamship Companies, representing a painted ship,
the S.S. Popocatapetl, upon a painted ocean, with a
deckload of passengers in all varieties of national and
fancy costume. Mr. Fogo, as his eye rested on this
company, halted and looked more closely.

“ That Highlander,” he said, “ is out of drawing.”

Purse in hand, he paused before the advertisement

283

*

Troy Town

and slowly yielded to its spell. His eyes grew fixed
and glassy : tickets, train, and waiting bride had
passed out of his mind. Mr. Fogo’s fit was upon
him.

Meanwhile the Twins, unconscious of the flight of
time, and untutored in the ways of locomotives, were
loading their sister with parting advice.

“ This ’ere,” remarked Peter, pulling a bulky
parcel from his pocket, “ contains a variety o’ useful
articles for travellin’, which I’ve a-reckoned up durin’
the past week an’ meant to hand 'ee at the las’
moment. There’s a wax candle an’ a box o’ lucifers
for the tunnels, an’ a roll o’ diach’lum plaister in case
o’ injury, an’ ‘ Foxe’s Book o’ Martyrs,’ ef you shud
tire o’ lookin’ out at the windey, an’ Thorley’s-Food-
for-Cattle Almanack for the las’ thirteen year all
done up separate, an’ addressed to ‘ Mr. P. Dearlove,
juxty Troy.’ ’Bout this last, I wants Mr. Fogo to
post wan at ivery stashun where you stops, so’s we
may knaw you’ve got there safe.”

“ I see,” broke in Paul, who had been spelling
through the notices with which the carriage was
adorned, “ there’s a fine not exceedin’ saxty shillin’
ef you communicates wi’ the guard wi’out reason,
an’ wuss ef you cuts the cush’ns or damages the com¬
partment. You’d bes’ call Mr. Fogo’s ’tention to
that.”

“ An’ warn ’un not to get out while the train’s i’
motion; but you was al’ays thoughtful, Tamsin.
God bless thee, little maid ! Et makes my head
swim o’ whiles to think ’pon the times I’ve a-danced
’ee ’pon my knee, an’ now you’m a married woman ! ”

“ God bless you both , my dear brothers ! ”

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Troy Town

“Amazin’,” said Paul; “I see the Cumpenny
won’t hold itsel’ liable for — — ”

There was a slamming of doors, a shriek of the
whistle, and the train began to move away. At the
same moment Mr. Fogo darted out of the Booking
Office, and came tearing up the platform.

“Where’s my wife?” he cried. “Which car-
nage - r

It was too late. The carriage was already beyond
the platform, and the train had gathered speed. But
presence of mind belongs not to experience only. At
the end of the train was hitched an empty clay-truck,
bound on a return journey to Five Lanes Junction.
Quick as thought the Twins, as Mr. Fogo rushed up to
them, caught him by the coat collar and seat of his
trousers, and with one timely heave sent him flying
into this. When he staggered to his feet — hatless,
without spectacles, and besmeared with clay from
head to foot — the train was fifty yards beyond the
station. And so, staring back mournfully at the little
group upon the platform, he vanished from their
sight.

“ That,” said Peter, turning slowly to his brother,
“ was nibby-gibby.”

“ Tamsin mou’t ha’ communicated wi’ the guard,”
responded Paul, “ on’y that, wi’out sufficient reason,
wud ha’ been not exceedin’ saxty shillin’. Do 'ee
think ’twud ha’ been held sufficient reason ? ”

“ I dunno. I reckon they mou’t ha’ made et two-
pund-ten, all things conseddered,” said his brother
thoughtfully, “ but there’s no knawin’.”

It is always hateful to say good-bye to friends, and
.here, with his leave, the reader shall be left to guess

285

0

Troy Town

on the later fortunes of Tamsin and Mr. Fogo, the
Twins and Caleb. It may be, if he care, and the
Fates so order it, he shall some day follow them
through new adventures ; but it will be far from Troy
Town. And for the present they shall fare as his
imagination pleases.

Of Tamsin, however, who is thus left with her good
or sorry fortune before her, something shall be hinted.
Public opinion at Troy condemned her marriage. As
Miss Lim penny neatly asked, “ If we were all to marry
beneath us, pray where should we stop?” “We
should go on,” replied the Admiral, “ ad libitum.”
I am inclined to think he meant “ ad infinitum ” ;
but the argument is quite as cogent as it stands.

And yet, since they returned to Kit’s House, which
they did after an absence of three years, Mr. and Mrs.
Fogo have been called upon by the Cumeelfo. Some
months ago the Admiral button-holed me in the
street.

“ I say, who are all those people staying with —
with your friends? I mean, the strangers I saw in
Church yesterday — a very creditable lot, upon my
word.”

“I am glad you approve of them,” I answered
gravely. “The lady with the spectacles is Miss
Gamma Girton, the Novelist of Agnosticism ; the tall
man in black, Thomas Daniel, the critic - ”

“ Oh, literary people.”

“ Quite. Then there is Sir Inchcape Bell, the great
Engineer; and Lady Judy Twitchett — her husband
(the young man with the bald head) sits for Horkey-
boro , you know, and will be in the Cabinet with the
next - ”

286

Troy Town

But the Admiral was already hurrying down the
street. That very afternoon he took his family up
to Kit’s House, to call ; and has been calling at short
intervals ever since.

The Goodwyn-Sandys, unless we are sharper than
the police, we shall never see again. So close was the
pursuit, however, that they were forced to leave the
portmanteau in the cloak-room at Paddington
Station, where it was discovered and opened. It con¬
tained a highly curious clock-work toy, and enough
dynamite to raze St. Paul’s to the ground. Even
without exploding, it converted three statesmen to
Home Rule.

Mr. Moggridge’s resignation of his post in the
Customs was received without expressed regret.
He has since married Sophia Buzza, and edits a
Conservative paper in Wales. I see that another
volume of his verse is in the press. It is to be called
“ Throbs : and other Trifles,” and will include the
epithalamium written by him for his own nuptials,
as well as his “ Farewell to Troy ! a composition
which Mrs. Buzza said she defied “ you to read with¬
out feeling as if geese were walking over your grave.”

Sam Buzza has gone to College.

And what of Troy Town? By degrees the old
phrases, old catch-words, and old opinions have
come to reign again. Troy’s unchanged loveliness
too, the daily round full of experiences familiar as
old friends, the dear monotony of sight and sound in
the little port — all have made for healing and oblivion.
If you question us on a certain three months in our

287

Troy Town

life, the chances are you will get no answer. We
have agreed to forget, you see; and so we are be¬
ginning to persuade ourselves, almost, that those
months have never been.

Almost. But, as a fact, Mrs. Buzza had been
right. “ It will never be the same again — never ! ”
Something we have lost, and I think that something
is Troy. For strangers have come amongst us, and
have formed a society of their own. The Town is
grown out of our knowledge. They have built, and
are building, mansions of stucco, and a hotel of
hideous brick ; a fifth-rate race-meeting threatens the
antique regatta; and before all this the savour of
Trojan life is departing. Ilion is down, and by no
assault of war.

And yet -

The evening before last I passed up the road in
front of No. i, Alma Villas. The air was warm, and
through the half-opened window a voice stole out—

“ In the Great Exhibition of 1851, my dear, Her
Majesty the Queen, while partaking of luncheon - ”

'

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Date Due

CAT. NO. 23 233 PRINT

ED IN U.S.A.

PR 5194 .A8 1888

Quiller-Couch, Arthur Tho
The astonishing history of Tro

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0 1999 00163

05 6

TRENT UNIVERSITY

PR519U- .A8 1888?

, ci r Arthur Thomas]

[Quiller-Couch, S o£ Troy

•phe astonishing

town

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